Eating My Wings To Make Me Tame
by death-in-the-orchard
Summary: Father Anderson, a priest living in an orphanage accompanied by a few nuns and many children, adopts an injured bat. When misfortune interferes, this innocent tale becomes laced with venomous darkness.
1. Chapter 1

"Father, Father! Me next! Me next! I'm supposed to sit on your lap next, Father Anderson. You said so!"

The priest smiled kindly down at the frustrated, flushed face of the little girl who wore two braids in her hair, done up by her own hands. One was noticeably larger than the other, but it was somehow more endearing than if the two braids had been symmetrical. A begrudging boy, smaller than the girl, frowned at her when Father Anderson took him from his knee and replaced him with the little girl. The group of youngsters, all without the guidance and protection of parents, clustered around the priest waiting to listen to another story from the book of children's Bible stories on his lap. The world was green and fresh with spring time perforating the lingering summer chill. The morning light was soft upon their faces, sitting on the front porch to receive some of the spring's good health.

Father Anderson began to read again, this time a story about a saint who adored animals. St. Francis was the main subject for the day for it was the children's duty to learn the Prayer of Saint Francis by the end of the week. Large eyes absorbed the colorful drawings and the pretty pictures of animals as the comforting low voice of the patient priest gave them the words from the pages. Most wore smiles that pleasant morning, drinking in tranquility while the more restless children that had already learned about St. Francis adventured out amongst the trees and grass speckled with wildflowers and dandelions who would loose their manes by the end of the morning, seeking out the playground that nature had provided for them.

Mischievousness touched the sunny morning when there was a shout of excitement that stopped the low voice and took the orphans' eyes from the pictures in the book. On the wall around the corner of the orphanage, a group of boys was gathering while some girls attempted to sneak a peek at their discovery by slipping past the wall the predominantly male assembly posed against them. Children picked themselves up and scampered away to inspect the excitement when voices rose, and Father Anderson hurried after them when there was a shriek of fear and then laughs. Then there were thuds and some angry yells that turned Anderson's hurried step into a short sprint. Rocks were not to be thrown. The rule was that if a child wanted a stone to be his toy, then he would have to play alone and give up all of his other toys and privileges: 'to stone is to be left alone`, but as of that moment, Father Anderson was sure that he had heard stones hitting the wall.

The large form, now intimidating with the sting of chastisement on the priest's tongue, broke the collection of children, parting them from the wall while singling out the stone throwers who guiltily stepped forward, prompted by an honest upbringing burned into their souls with the fear of hellfire. They hastened to explain their reasons, pointing to the lethal creature that was now on the ground, having been struck from the wall by a rock or stick.

Anderson's arms spread the children back and away from the base of the wall where the gaping jaws of the clicking, terrified beast hissed at them. Brown fur, large ears standing up towards the chattering group, and black wings accompanied the little fanged mouth, and what was obviously a bat held its ground, trying to intimidate the humans as it found itself surrounded. Seeing the risk of contracting rabies through a bite, and unsure as too how much contact had been exchanged between the children and the creature already, the priest demanded to know if anyone had touched it. One boy was found who had, but he promised that he had only touched it when it was sleeping and it hadn't bitten him. With a gruff mutter for the boy's carelessness, Father Anderson told the children to leave the area and let the bat fly off.

"But Andrew hit it with a stick." A little girl pointed at the boy with a youthful chubby finger.

Andrew cowered under a fierce green glare and he dropped the stick he had been hiding behind his back. With further observation of the bat, one wing seemed to be favored, left at an angle that decreased the amount of pressure it received. Blonde hair was ruffled when the priest took his hand to his head to think. The children, who were obviously incapable of abandoning such an interesting scene, were ordered to step back while Anderson went about trying to capture the bat. The fangs clicked a warning, and then an awkward escape was attempted. Someone ran for a box while the bat shuffled away from the gloved hands. The box was placed in the bat's path and the threat of the white gloves prompted the creature to seek refuge in the cardboard cave.

Thus, the bat was taken inside with a parade of childish wonder whispering and laughing around it, frightening the confused beast that crammed itself into a corner and then crawled around, searching for a way out. But as its beady black eyes looked up to see an unfamiliar white sky that seemed as far and endless as a wall, it became night when the lid of the box closed on top of the animal.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

His first thought was to get the bat tested for rabies, but when Anderson made the call he cringed and felt only repulsion for that option when the man on the phone informed him that the test would kill the bat, involving decapitation as part of the process of running the assessment. When Anderson opened the box to peek at the little brown creature, he thought it looked like a healthy enough rodent to spare its life. His next thought was to call animal control to have a professional come and pick it up. The children whined and a little one cried at this option, pleading to keep the bat and nurse it back to health themselves. They weren't sure if the bat would be properly taken care of if it was not in their possession. This didn't seem to be a reasonable argument, but the small beast managed to charm the priest as well as some of the nuns who were in charge of the orphans, so the bat was allowed to stay at the orphanage.

A peace offering was given, a dead insect that Google said would make the bat happy and a bottle-cap brimming with water, secured to the bottom of the box by superglue. A branch was punctured through the side of the box to give the bat a perch, and then the bat was left alone, though visited often, so that it could regain its health, something it was keen on accomplishing.

The day it was decided that the bat would stay, Father Anderson rolled up his sleeves and stopped up the drain in the sink, removing a bottle of shampoo and conditioner from the shower. The door was closed on the curious little faces that begged to be let in, and the bat was poured into the sink gently where it instantly went on the defense with gaping jaws and constant clicks daring the priest to attempt to eat it.

The bat ducked into itself with a sudden cry of alarm when water trickled onto its head with a stream building as more water came from the tap, it waddled away, but a tan hand brought it back and then quickly snatched it up in a way that immobilized the black wings and did not give the little mouth the ability to bite the priest. The unhappy bat closed its eyes and mouth, wriggling in vain to break away when water darkened its coat. The shampoo and conditioner were mixed and rubbed into the wet fur at the same time, a finger gently scrubbing the bat's head and whatever it could reach before rinsing it off under the thin rivulet of tap water.

The bat quietly received its bath when nothing to the contrary could be done, beady eyes glaring all of the feelings of resentment the small heart could sustain, up at the priest that had the gall to smile down at it and chuckle.

"Think how nice you'll smell and how fluffy you'll be when you dry, little one. It's not so bad, the water is nice and warm for you."

At first perceiving the voice to be a challenging growl, the bat bared its fangs and let out a low hiss that could not be heard over the sound of the running tap. But as the voice continued to speak in the same calm manner, the bat saw its mistake and closed its mouth, set to watch the priest with blinking black eyes and ears that twitched when water caught like dew on the soft skin. A thumb washed an ear, closing one of the bat's eyes, and the priest hummed for a moment, long enough to excite the creature who opened its eye and allowed a drop of water to dive into it. Then both eyes were closed, fearing the punishing sting of the water.

A knock came at the door and several young voices said, all at once, that they needed to use this bathroom. The wise priest saw through their scheme and informed the group that there were three other bathrooms that they could use instead.

"But they're full!" One voice interjected and the others reinforced the argument. The tan hands continued to move over the bat, picking out a wing and adding suds to the folds of soft membrane.

"Well, this bathroom is full as well. You will have to wait your turn, children."

The disappointed groans brought a smile to Anderson's lips and he heard muttering youths shuffle away reluctantly. With a satisfied sigh, Father Anderson manipulated the bat in his hand to spread out its healthy wing.

A flurry of flapping and chirping squeaks ended with a splash of water that dampened the priest's garments. With a less satisfied sigh, the man dipped the bat into the collecting warm water to hopefully clean any part of the healthy wing he had missed. For the injured wing, which he had thankfully discovered was not broken, was cleaned in the same way, with a quick dip into the water. Wet and unhappy, but unable to do anything about the situation, the bat squeaked occasionally to protest this manhandling, a fluctuating anxiety attacking its heart with each vulnerable position it was moved into, and every passing minute that went by in which escape had not been accomplished. When its stomach was exposed and it was turned upward so that fingers could clean its underside, futile flapping struggled to break the folded wings out from the solid grip the human had around the bat's body. Little closed feet also kicked and opened in the hopes of catching hold of something in order to break away. But nothing was caught and the bat's stomach was cleaned by the amused priest who watched the pathetic struggle with a slim smile.

"Well, now that we know that you're a male bat the children can give you a proper name."

An indignant foot jerked, but the wet rodent said nothing against the invasion into _his_ privacy and he was soon bundled in cloth to be rubbed dry and provided with additional warmth.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

It was evening and candles set the glass of the window ablaze while the sky was black and blue with a blush of red lingering over the horizon, cut by trees. The children had eaten dinner and were now amusing themselves with board games, other toys, or studying. When the great frame of Father Anderson entered, a kind smile on his lips and warmth filling his eyes, games were abandoned for the sake of listening to a parable read by the priest, and them some verses from John and Mathew that were read aloud by a handful of selected orphans. Some attention was diverted to the little bat that sat in its box, hiding inside a smaller box that had been cut and arranged to become a hut or home for the shy beast. The black eyes watched the wall of the cardboard container, its sight dimmed while its brain focused on recognizing the voice that was speaking to the children, bat ears tuned in to Father Anderson's answers to questions the young humans had.

"So Jesus loves everybody?" A little boy, about nine or ten, blinked up at the priest who nodded. A nun sitting in a chair also smiled, her hands busying themselves with two large needles and a string of yarn that led to her ankle where the misshapen ball sat obediently still.

"Does he love all the children?" A younger girl piped in.

"Especially."

Other younger children waited to ask their questions while Anderson patiently answered each one, even if he had already answered it before.

"Does Jesus love bad people in jail?"

"Yes, even sinners he wishes would reform."

"What about um- um- atheists and -and other people that don't believe in him?"

"He loves them as well."

"What about Angel? Does he love Angel too?"

Anderson couldn't help but chuckle at the reminder that brought his eyes to the bat who was hiding from his view. The children had named the bat Angel, a few scoldings going out to a couple of boys who had wanted to name the bat Demon or Monster. The man chortled. "Yes, of course he loves little bats, even if they are not very…outgoing…not especially social creatures."

It was quiet for a moment while heads craned to look into the box, a few going to their knees or even standing to satisfy their curiosity. When attention had returned to their discussion, an older boy looked at the priest with a small frown. "But what about Hitler? Does Jesus really love him too? Does he really deserve any love?"

A grim frown had tipped his cheerful lips, but Father Anderson nodded solemnly, gazing directly at the boy. "Yes, even Hitler. Jesus loves everyone."

Shock made the room fall in silence and then little ones whispered while others looked around to find someone who might be doubting the priest. They swallowed and another child questioned the man in a timid voice. "But do you love Hitler, Father Anderson?"

Hushed by the new turn the conversation had taken, enlarged eyes stared at the priest who grimaced and avoided making eye contact with any of the children for more than a second. He sighed and shifted around in his chair, carefully keeping the little boy that was propped up on his knee, steady. The bat's eyes blinked and a snout crept out of the cover of shadow his house gave him, eyes hoping to see the priest as well, having followed the discussion as it had progressed. The nun had stopped her knitting, her face saddened as she pondered how the man would respond.

Father Anderson shook his head with both shame and a feeling that contradicted his shame, a solid confidence in his aversion towards the evil man and his tainted, hate filled soul. "No. I cannot make myself love any person who has killed and hurt so many people. I don't have enough love in my heart to give any to Hitler or others like him. That is why Jesus is so amazing, children, he is capable of loving every being on this Earth, holding hatred for no soul even if that soul had hated him and all of mankind. But I could never love such a person. I would never be able to forgive them in order to love them, but you should always try to love others. Always try to forgive and forget, form friendships with your fellow brothers and sisters. Speak kindly to those who hate you and if a violent fist is raised against you, you do not raise you fist in violence against them, but instead to pray for their unfortunate souls that do not follow the path to Heaven, children."

The silence had crept up on the group and it settled there for a few minutes. The bat lay in the exposing light, abiding by the law of silence as well. Finally, Father Anderson ruffled the hair of the child on his knee and he put the boy down, smiling once more. He told the children to play and study now, and they did so after a moment. The bat saw the man's face and upper body appear over the height of the wall of cardboard. The creature crawled backwards to hide in the shadowed interior of his house as hands lifted the box and lowered it to the children to let them say goodnight to the bat. The smaller box was removed to reveal the bat for a few moments, before Father Anderson covered the bat again and carried the box from the room.

In the hallway, apart from the presence of other humans, green eyes peered down at the bat's shelter. "You should learn to love too, little beast. You would be much happier if you loved and trusted us. We could all get along, I'm sure of it."

Ears and a head peeked out of the house, as if the animal had understood the man, and the two watched one another, both heading towards the priest's cluttered room. A few meal worms were placed in the box under the watchful eye of the priest. The hungry Angel hurried out of his house and snatched up one of the bugs, but, while he had usually retreated with his prize back into his shelter to dine in privacy, this time the bat ate his food in the open, allowing the priest to observe him. The bat ate three of the fat stubby insects, leaving behind few crumbs that were not sniffed out and snatched by his fangs. Pleased by this sense of trust, Anderson, who had stood by to watch the meal, grinned and turned to the door so that he could return to his children, first covering the top of the bat's 'cage' so that he could not escape.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

A month went by, in which the bat became increasingly more friendly towards the priest and more tolerant of the curious children that liked to stare at him with big eyes that came in different colors, some brown, some hazel, some blue, and some of them coming in a shade of green. The bat preferred a green gaze, and the darker hands of the priest. The nuns and the orphans began to keep an even higher level of pride and affection for the man as his kindness seemed to tame the wild creature. The amazing feat that became a day to day miracle dazzled eyes and warmed hearts, eyes beholding the picture of a holy man of God and the bat that hung from his clothes, or even from the cross that dangled from his neck. The man had taught the beast to love, they believed. And it was true. The bat did love the priest, but it had always possessed the ability to love. The feeling had not been taught, only drawn out by the warmth of another heart that accepted his feelings fully.

The time came when the bat was capable of flying without fear of re-injuring itself, and the orphanage prepared one evening, out in the yard, to let the bat fly away. The children and nuns were gathered on the porch or they occupied the grass near the priest who stood with the box that was soon uncovered. Father Anderson smiled down at the black face when it poked out of its shelter to see him and then fully emerged. The white, gloved hand took the bat from the box, allowing the tiny feet to hook onto the fabric. Curiosity turned the bat's head about, ears twitching and a snout sniffing at the night air, blinking against the bright scene of liberty found in the dark night sky, endless and free. Anderson lifted it up to feel the breeze. Black wings moved, the head looked about, and then, suddenly, the bat let go of his hand. The brown creature flapped, beating the air, gaining distance and altitude as it left the priest and the other humans on the ground below, voices calling out goodbye with wishes of good health and good hunting. Anderson gazed after the little shape that soon disappeared into the progressing night, saddened by the parting but optimistic about the bat's future. While the bat re-conquered the night, Father Anderson, like a shepherd with his flock, guided the orphans back inside, leaving the windows bare when the younger ones expressed their hope to see Angel if he flew by the orphanage.

Father Anderson doubted that they would ever meet the bat again, but he didn't tell this to the hopeful children and he shushed the older ones that wanted to convince the others that the bat would never come back.

However, when the morning light dawned and strengthened from shades of grey and blue to orange and yellow, the curtains hanging over the priest's window adopted the brighter colors, and the man awoke gradually with the building light. He checked on his window to see that the morning was indeed advancing, but when he decided to pull back the curtains to see what the day would look like, his eyes were instantly dawn to the high corner of the glass where a little form was tucked into itself, sleeping with its feet attached to the wooden frame that bordered the window.

Stunned, green eyes, without their usual bronze frames circling them, stared at the dark shape, watching the bat sleep. He knew without proof that this bat was the same one he had released the night before. The curtain was left open and the man went to the kitchens to see that breakfast was being prepared for the orphans. The children ate, some missing the bat that sometimes accompanied them by hanging on Father Anderson. When their gloom refused to dissipate, the priest disappeared for a few minutes. When he returned, he watched the children, checking on those who might want more orange juice or toast. A girl stared at her oatmeal, spooning some into her mouth. Her eyes followed the priest when he passed her seat.

Round eyes stared at the man and her pink lips parted to gape at his ignorance. She choked and pointed her spoon at him to let out a cry of amazement and joy. "FATHER! FATHER ANDERSON! LOOK AT YOUR SHIRT! LOOK! LOOK DOWN!"

Anderson, as if surprised by the girl, gave her a questioning look while other eyes shot towards the priest, worried about or puzzled by the girl's excitement. "What's on my shirt, Abigail?"

Other children took up cries of wonder while others left their mouths hanging, breakfast sometimes tumbling out. "Look!" "Oh my gosh! It's-" "Whoa!" "How did-?" Abigail was jumping up and down, proud of her discovery while still experiencing immense joy for the reunion. "The bat!" "Angel is back!" "It's Angel!" "Father! Angel is on you! Look!" "Look!" "Sister Agatha!" "Sister Reed!" "Everyone, look! Angel came back!"

And Father Anderson, in front of his awed audience, looked down at the brown form that moved about, listening to the children's voices with a roaming head and folded wings. The man smiled, petting the soft fur with his gentle hand to console the animal's worries.

After the children had settled down and many had gathered around to welcome Angel back home, the priest went about his duties, placing the bat in a shaded tree to rest. When he came back, he found Angel unmoved and in a deep slumber. So the sunny day continued and night drew near, finally becoming dusk. Father Anderson, accompanied by a few children, as his shadow always seemed to be made of their little forms, went to check on the bat. Angel was awake, so the priest took him from the tree and let him fly off into the night once more, to find food. Anderson watched with the children who had been told that the bat might not come back, just because he had returned that morning did not mean he would always return. But Angel was only gone for a half hour before someone saw him sitting outside the window. Father Anderson was fetched.

"He wants to feed you!" Giggles bubbled up from every throat and Anderson blinked at the bat hanging from his glove as Angel twisted and turned towards the man to present a fat hairy moth caught in his teeth. Incredulous, the man pinched a dusty insect wing between his fingers, to see if the bat was truly offering it to him.

Angel let go of the moth promptly, licking his lips and hanging still and expectant, waiting for Anderson to eat the juicy bug.

Of course the man wouldn't eat the bug, but the prospect made the children laugh again, and more filed into the room to learn of what was going on so that they could have fun laughing too. Anderson let the bat fly off again and he put the moth in the animal's box so that it would not be wasted.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

Every morning, the bat returned to roost on the priest's window, and the man would carry it inside to sleep in its box or even on his clothes. The bat would hang from him when he read alone in his private quarters, sleeping or listening to the man who would murmur sometimes when he read. When summer arrived, the bat allowed some of the nuns and older children one pat a day where they could come and touch his ear or stroke his back once and then leave. It took longer to teach the little ones how to be quiet enough to earn his approval, but they too were allowed to touch angel at the peek of summer.

Peace and happiness filled their lives, and all were content with how the world around them was progressing, becoming brighter and warmer, becoming better every day. But misfortune fell upon their heads when a visitor came to see Father Anderson. The priest was in a room shut off from the others, with only the visitor and the bat that was hidden in his clothes. It was the will of the parish and other authorities that Father Anderson would be moved to another station, where work only he could accomplish would be done. They wanted to send him to some remote location, a small community whose local church had little or no attendance at present. Out of all of the servants under God's gaze, they found that Father Anderson was most fit for the job. They believed that he could convert and save the souls that might be lost without him.

Almost without a choice in the matter, Father Anderson nodded to the man who spoke before him, and he accepted the mission with a humbled spirit.

A week passed, clouds migrating from far and wide to cover the sky to make the day the priest left, as sad and dreary as the hearts of those who had to see him leave. Children shook with sobs and the Holy women did not hold back their own tears. The man who was leaving filled with despair when he saw his children's unhappiness, and his eyes brimmed with water that eventually broke and trickled down his cheeks. Plenty of hugs and kisses were exchanged, a soft kiss even administered to the bewildered bat that was placed in the tree where it hung, watching the event with blinking beady eyes. The bat watched as his priest got into a black car and disappeared when the door was closed, separated from them by glass and metal so that they could only see part of his face.

He has been captured! The bat realized, horror crashing into his skull, permitting no other purpose to occupy him other than the dire necessity of beating his wings as hard as possible in order to keep up with the black car when it drove away with his priest. A few tearful eyes saw the bat go, and they began to cry harder at the tragic scene. But the bat had no mind for those he left behind, only for the one he pursued, straining his heart, lungs, and muscles, panting with his distress, seeing that the car was faster than his wings.

The car was not going very fast over the narrow two-way street that came at the end of the private road that led back to the orphanage. The priest sat in the backseat with his face in his hands, breathing slowly, coming to terms with his mission to serve the Lord that should not be jeopardized by his weaknesses. The man journeyed to his new location, driven by a man he did not know but who sympathized with the priest and offered only praise for his decision and mentioned the appreciation the Lord had for those who sacrificed for Him. Anderson only nodded, unable to speak until he had reached the small community it was his duty to save. He looked out the windows at the humble houses and shops, feelings pangs in his chest when little children ran about before his eyes, laughing and playing like his own orphans had.

The green eyes watched as trees engulfed his world, passing beneath their branches, driving up to the empty church whose parish he would hopefully create. Then the man was left there, assured of the food, water, and electricity that awaited him inside. But beyond these things that Anderson expected, he saw over the threshold an expanse of loneliness and hardship to come. Putting these feelings aside, the priest bowed his head in prayer and then carried his small quantity of luggage into his new 'home'.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

Where is he? Where is he?

With aching wings shaped by thin membranes that threatened to tear at the savage abuse they were receiving, the bat gasped with its small heaving lungs, still flying in the direction the car had taken. But the car was no longer in within seeing distance. It had speed off hours ago and the bat had not seen it since. He continued to fly however, with the sun setting, the night approaching. Hunger and thirst combined with exhaustion blurred the creature's mind and crippled his ability to fly. A few short rests were taken, but they were now useless to repair the damage the distraught creature had done to his body. He needed a safe place to rest and a source of nourishment. He needed to end this hopeless chase, but it was impossible for the bat to adhere to this reasoning. The beast pushed himself until his body could be pushed no further. From the air that was warm with the summer day that had expired, where the twinkling stars tirelessly lit up the sky, giving the moon company, the tiny speck, the shadow against any light in the sky, plummeted. Down and down, the animal fell, wings coming back to life to slow the decline and help maneuver towards the trees rather than to fall anywhere close to the road. The bat caught himself in the leaves and branches, hanging down with a panting tongue sneaking out between his fangs, beady eyes closing to sleep.

He did not have enough strength to continue, or enough even to find water or food. The bat fell into a deep sleep and stayed this way until the moon had set, the sun had risen, and the sun had passed beyond the center of the sky. At this time, when he awoke, he could not smell water or hear any that might be in the area. Few insects that he could eat were active at this time, this far from water, so few that none were caught until night fell. But, without food or water, the feeble bat pursued the car that had faded from the face of the Earth. The bat pursued a memory, flying for the sake of reaching his priest. But when night came, he had to drink and feed. Moths were caught, and other bugs, and a puddle created from a hose attached to the side of a house gave him water. He ate his fill and found a roost so he could sleep when morning came. The bat slept through the next day, fed and drank what he needed, and then set off after the car at night. This became the creature's daily pattern, to sleep during the day and then feed a little and drink what he could while he pursued the car. Fat burned away from the healthy creature and he became thin, his hair became matted from neglect, forgetting to clean himself at times when he had the bare amount of energy that would have allowed him to do so.

He flew in earnest to save the captured man, unable to know that he was not headed in a direction that would lead him to the priest. Bones and matted fur, the appearance of a sickly beast, the bat's journeys became shorter as his strength and endurance faded. On a night when the moon was thin and the battered creature was hanging on a rock at the base of a cliff, the bat found a man standing beneath him, smiling under the broad girth of a wide black hat, cloaked in garments of pitch black with only a chin and a mouth visible. The man beckoned to the bat with one hand, the other tucked at his side. The weary bat did not trust humans other than those he had known before, but this man gave off a different feeling than other humans. The bat could not sense him as being a predator. It was as if the man were part of the world, like a stone or a mountain, something that had always been there and would always exist. So the bat flew down to the outstretched arm and clung to the generous sleeve. Black eyes watched the man, unable to see through the hat to know if the man had any eyes of his own to meet with.

The mouth was smiling, happy to have the bat on his sleeve, and the man brought out his other arm which had been holding a large black book. The bat saw it, but thought nothing of the book.

"Hello."

A black ear twitched and the bat continued to watch the man, the smiling mouth he could see below a line of shadow. The man made a sound in his throat like a sigh, but it somehow held the same expression as a low chuckle. They watched one another, seemingly assessing the other's identity or potential with regards to a future matter and the present. The bat pondered with the vague wish that this human might have the ability to take him to his priest, having seen plenty of humans who could operate cars.

The strange man's smile widened and the sigh returned again. Glinting teeth were visible. "So is that your deepest desire, little creature? You wish to find Father Anderson?"

That name. That name! The black eyes widened and the bat's ears faced the man, alert, while the thin frame filled with hope. This man knew the priest! He will take me to him! He will take me to him in a car! I will not have to fly anymore! I will find Father Anderson! I will take him home!

The bat, consumed in his thoughts and his new attachment to the stranger, did not care when the arm he hung from was raised to the cover of the black book or when he was placed upon it. The bat sat on the book, releasing the sleeve that seemed to want freedom. The man was grinning, a stretched smile full of white teeth, shining like opal. The sight dazzled the already excited bat, lulling it into an unnatural calm suddenly. Dimmed eyes gazed at the teeth, hearing the voice one last time. It spoke slowly.

"I will take you to your beloved priest, my little pet. If you are ever lost again, I will always help you. I will _always _be waiting. There will be no need to seek me out. …Now sleep, my pet. …Sleep."

And so, the bat lost consciousness.

When he woke it was morning, the sun was high, the birds were singing in the surrounding tree tops, and laying before the beady black eyes, still heavy with sleep that fogged the bat's mind, was the threshold of an old church, empty of life…except for the lonely form visible down the length of the aisle, standing behind an alter, a great Bible spread out under even greater hands. What other Holy man could possess such a powerful build, such brilliant green eyes that could glimmer like a night star behind bronze rimmed glasses…than Father Anderson?

Impulse became thought and momentum for the little creature that scrambled forward, full of burning joy that gave his limbs vigor, gave strength to his wings that somehow lifted his body from the ground without the need of a perch, to fly to the man, to the being he loved so dearly.

Unfortunately, his strength was failing, his path led through only a few feet of air before he hit the floor again, but it had been enough to catch the priest's attention. While the bat crawled a few inches, testing out its cramped muscles, shoes dashed off into the living quarters of the church and elsewhere, but soon returned. The bat was crawling, with difficulty, towards the carpeted steps that led up to the altar when the priest returned, walking around the perimeter of the curved steps, passing the front pews to stand over the matted and weak creature. With the shoes so close to his eyes and the scent of the man saturating the air the dark snout sniffed at, the bat waved its shivering wings over the tiled flooring, showing its gratitude towards his fortune while expressing his joy in his own way. As he did this, one of his wings brushed the man's boot when it moved.

A shadow came over him.

He's going to pick me up! He's going to pick me up!

The bat felt the shadow and noticed when the feet moved back a step, the man's body curving as if to soon kneel down.

There was a thunderous clash, an explosion of light, and then all was cast into a starless night…and quiet settled over the world.

…

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

"My poor pet."

A hand was stroking the bat's ears and fur back away from his head, sitting on top of a flat surface. All was darkness, so the bat could only feel and listen to the voice. He felt the cool hard surface under him, like the cover of a book or the armor protecting a serpent from harm, and the cold hand that was petting him. The bat felt this, without air in the world, no scents, no other sounds, nothing else to perceive…but the knowledge that this hand did not belong to the priest. This was not Father Anderson.

But the voice was not unfamiliar. The cold hand was not alien to him.

The stroking continued, running over the creature's body. The voice seemed to be smiling.

"My poor pet, you come to me so soon?"

For the first time in the beast's existence, a voice of his own seemed to come from his thoughts, the feelings he had possessed before were interpreted into a human language to be conveyed properly. He now had these words for himself, all at his disposal.

The bat moved to look around, craning his neck upward to see the invisible face. He saw only darkness.

"Where is Father Anderson?" He asked with his own voice he could not hear. It sounded as if it was still in his mind, only echoing now as his mouth moved. The other voice smiled still.

"Oh, Father Anderson? You ask about him, my pet? Why?"

"I want to see him."

The sighing chuckle possessed the voice and the hand pressed a little harder as it passed over the bat.

"You cannot see him."

Worry rushed the bat in his demand to understand what had happened. "Am I blind? What is wrong with me? Where is my priest? Where is my Father?"

The sigh cut off, as if choking, and a real chuckle oozed from the source of the other voice.

"You are not blind. Father Anderson is in the church garden… filling a hole. And you, my pet, there is nothing wrong with you at all. …You are only dead, and that is a very healthy state for one who has lived."

The silence engulfed all that was and the bat's senses dulled to nothing before reviving with painful precision showing how deep the darkness stretched, how absolute the silence really was.

"Dead?"

"Oh yes…completely dead. Your head was severed from your body by the blade of a shovel, remember? The priest…" The stroking became gentle, caressing as the body-less form spoke. "The priest killed you."

Silence again took over, the bat too stunned to utter a syllable of surprise or horror, both of which he felt as time went by.

"But why? Why would my priest kill me? He loved me! He said that he loved little bats! That he loved _me. That he loved me! That he wished to love! Do you know love? What you said is not __**love**__!_"

The smile broadened, opening to reveal the opal teeth that shone in the lightless void.

"He _did _love you, and he perhaps still loves you. But what was there to differentiate you from any other bat? What was there to connect to 'Angel', the bat he left behind? …If you could see yourself, you look quite rabid or ailed by some unpleasant disease." The voice paused for the bat to have time to digest what had been said. The hand that had stilled for a moment returned to comfort the distressed creature. "My pet…"

"Who are you?" The bat's voice whispered.

"You don't need to know."

Quiet.

"I am sleeping, and then I will wake up in my box."

"No." The voice chuckled, ruffling the bat's fur. "You are dead…"

The bat made a whining sound, a show of agony, that made the voice's grin grow even larger, twisting with sadistic delight.

"But I will help you, my little pet. I can give you life once more."

The bats nonexistent eyes bulged, he strained to see the face of the voice, but found nothing. He could not speak, but the voice sensed his emotions and the opal smile grew to impossible proportions. It was like a crescent moon on its side, so much like the immortal, icy moon, ever shining in the darkness, at times cutting into the light.

"Your body is impossible for me to repair…I did not make it. But I_ can_ create bodies…I can make you a new one… Would you like it?"

"Yes!" The bat whispered, trying to crawl forward, but finding it impossible to sense his own movement. The moon laughed and shifted the book the animal was laying on. A cold hand lifted him, pages were turned after the binding creaked when the book was opened. At the middle of the thick volume, the pages stopped moving and the bat was again placed on the book. Then the invisible hand lifted a corner of the page.

"Bite here."

"Where?"

The edge of the page slipped into the bat's mouth, moved by the cold hand, and then the bat bit down.

Time slowed for a moment…it almost stopped…

…and then it returned with a rush, with the breaking of a dam that had tired to stop up a powerful river.

He could feel his body, a larger body, a different form. The bat gasped a lungful of air, standing on a surface that was the ground. He embraced the figure he could not see, while it continued to smile.

"Thank you. Oh _thank you. Thank you! Thank you." The voice rose and fell into a murmur as the bat's new form shuddered against the invisible one that no longer spoke but stood silently with its sighing laugh. The bat's new lips kissed the cheek his mouth found and buried his face into the cold neck, shedding tears of joy as this new world faded with his consciousness once more…before he returned to the Earth and felt the wind take hold of his hair, tossing it towards the sky he gazed up at._


	2. Chapter 2

His heart beat the dull rhythm of sleep, pushing a lead life-force through mortal veins, blood moving, making the body that could find little purpose to motivate itself, live. Heaviness came from sadness, hardship piled on the human chest, pushing down on the pumping organ, making its work more strenuous. He would live. He would live on through the night to wake and see the next morning sun burn over the trees and illuminate the empty corridors, the empty church, to warm them so as to remind the priest that there was no other source that could tell him he was still living, that the heat of other beings was outside his reach, absent from where he currently resided.

He lived for God. His heart beat for the Lord in Heaven, so that his organic body might function to do God's bidding where His spiritual hand steered him. But, Father Anderson's will had been further tried after parting with his children, by the cool welcome he had received.

It had not even been enough to be called a welcome. The eyes of the lost souls had been far too resentful, spiteful, some chilled by prejudice that fertilized the soil out of which sprouts of hatred cultivated without the priest having to do more than plant himself within seeing distance while displaying the Holy cross that hung beside his heart. Anderson had spoken to the villagers several times, standing on an upturned crate to inform them of his coming and of the God who now reached out to them, using the priest's flesh, making him into a Holy vessel carrying the teachings of Jesus Christ, the Good News. At first they had gathered, doubtful, curious, intimidated. Then, the patience of their hostile hearts had tired and Father Anderson had been rejected, persuaded to leave by the calmer until this group retired and the more passionate berated the priest, denouncing him, the Church, the Holy Catholic Pope, and the Christian God. He was an intruder, they claimed, whose purpose was to guide them into the clutches of a pompous, false god. He had no right to be in their village. They would drive him out with anger, just as they had managed with the previous priest who had been less outspoken, more timid, and easy to bully. But their words and rebuttal had no effect on Father Anderson. Their curses could not knock him from his pedestal, the upturned crate he carried with him into the village.

At this point, there had been a few who acted as if they had turned to the Lord, pleasing the priest and uplifting his trodden spirits. But they asked for things in return for their participation. Sly mouths hinted at money, at more effective ways to persuade others to join and stay with the Church. They wanted to be paid and rewarded just as the previous Catholic Holy man had done.

Father Anderson's face had turned to stone, listening to their words, their sly serpent tongues. They had no faith, no love for God. They were not true converts…so he expelled them from the Church, refusing to give them a single dime or valuable Holy trinket. He would not let them worship a golden cross.

Then, without a single ally to stand beside him near the crate he preached from, without the protection of a familiar face the villagers would not wish to harm, stones arrived with their hateful words. Unafraid of pain and seeing the stones as being as hard and sharp as the words he had so far endured, Father Anderson had stood to receive the brunt of the storm.

"Catholic bastard!" "We don't need you _looking down _on us! Trying to _save _us! From _what_? FROM WHAT, OH HOLY SERVANT OF GOD?" Men grunted and raged, hurling stones, sticks, rotten fruit, whatever was at hand or whatever they had carried in their pockets, having collaborated with others who had agreed to take a more violent approach in ridding themselves of the unwanted Holy man. Women who did not participate and others who were the more docile, watched with parted lips that could _speak _of pitying the man, but whose unwavering eyes - that glittered and never turned away from the scene - revealed their hearts which rejected the priest, behind high stone walls of a fortress that had been erected, from whose spires arrows and other missiles struck the man over a distance, the wishes for his disappearance.

A stone chipped the head of the body that was as still as granite, the body that accepted the assault as would a statue that could not feel both the pain of scorn and physical injuries. Blood dripped from his brow, a line that traveled over his temple and down the slope of his cheek to reach his jaw. Then it slipped down his neck. A single drop of blood, splatter from the force of another missile, clung to the face of the crucifix the priest wore. It was as if the Lord shed tears of blood.

So long did he stand there without defending himself that a child who had seen the work of his parents, took up a well worn baseball, so far used in its existence as a source of joy and happiness for children, and threw the ball with all his might, even smiling at the game he now played, watching as the ball shattered the lens in the bronze fame of the priest's glasses, casting the fragmented glass to rain down on the man's Holy garments, hitting the dust at his feet, much like the blood his parents had already drawn.

The storm ceased to swirl, bodies stilled, and a collective gasp sucked in the malevolent curses from the air. Shock stilled them, eyes finding the baseball. Dust and dirt clung to it where the moist droplets of blood had stained the worn, discolored leather when it had fallen and rolled on the ground. The parents and other adults saw the boy who lost his smile and confidence, seeing the numbed looks, observing the product of his actions. The boy panicked and ran to hide his shame and fear that soon infected all of those left standing around the crate. Their eyes beheld the battered priest who still stood on the wooden box. They saw the wounds their hatred had delivered, the filth they had thrown, the one empty frame and the cuts from the sharp glass that left scrapes around one closed eye, already at a stage where the flesh reddened and pulsed, beginning to swell. Their beings, which they believed did not possess souls, flinched when their hearts or their blood quaked with the opening of the green eyes, one full of sadness and patience while the other was squinting, affected by the injury, showing them the bodily and spiritual suffering that the man did not wish to convey.

Fear made the people disperse. Fear and guilt and shame, when the sight of the man caused their minds to think themselves evil, made them feel that they were sinful, that they were wrongful while still rebelling against the concept of sin and the laws of a higher being. The round eyes of the watchful innocent, the young, were hurried away by those who had attacked the priest by use of their hands or their hearts, and the parents abandoned the baseball they could not bring themselves to retrieve in order to seek out their child wherever he now hid suffering humiliation and confusion alone.

After the event had concluded, the priest went to the Church, leaving behind the crate as a reminder of his presence. His wounds had healed and he procured new glasses through the post, while making sure to show himself to the villagers every day before the vision of their hatred had faded from his skin.

They had not lifted a hand against him after this, but none of them had been swayed towards converting either. They stopped up their ears, fortified their hearts, and passed the man. No one ever visited the church beyond the trees.

He was a hopeless, pitiable man they could not truly bear hatred for. While he saw them as lost souls that had wandered from the Lord's flock, they saw Father Anderson as a man who had wandered away from humanity to suffer alone with only a delusion to keep him company. If there was a god that had condemned this man to suffer in the midst of those who could not accept him, then they wanted no place with that god in the world to come. The hellfire they did not believe in, they saw beneath every lonely step the priest took from the church and all of those he made returning to it.

Now the priest woke, his heart still forcing his heavy blood through unwilling veins. Loneliness made him sigh when he rose from his bed and proceeded to dress in green and white robes in preparation for that morning's Mass.

Slipping his cross over his neck, he kissed the crucifix with closed eyes, allowing his lips to linger on the cold surface until tranquility had eased his soul of troubles. Then he carried on with his duties, thoughts splitting off to recall what had transpired the day before. Tan cheeks paled, seeing the dead animal whose life had been ended by his shovel, again in his memory. He gave a short prayer for the soul that was now spared from worldly suffering, still experiencing grief when a comparison buoyed the image of the bat called Angel to the surface of his mind. Father Anderson shook his head, fixing his glasses to make them more comfortable. He had been warned that animals here would not be as 'clean' as those he had encountered before around the orphanage, that he should not try to touch the wild animals because they were likely to be carrying rabies, parasites, or various diseases.

His feet stopped and the man stood like an inanimate pillar, his eyes wandering over the vacant pews in the church, his chest filling with breath that would leave him only in the form of a sigh. The poor animal... Its last moments… And then the dead body that had created a small pool of blood on the Holy floor... Father Anderson shook his head. He would dedicate this Mass to the un-named bat and to the villagers, as well as to his orphans and anyone else he had left behind.

Collecting his bearings and holding his Holy Book to his chest, the man proceeded to walk towards the altar where he genuflected in utter silence, no song from a chorus to accompany his passage. He turned to view the empty seats that ridiculed his work, pausing for a moment here, and then returned to his duty, keeping himself humble and free of less welcome thoughts or opinions that threatened to trespass into his mind whilst he was performing his duty to the Lord.

Standing thus alone in front of an empty church, Father Anderson lifted his arms to the ghosts that might watch such lonely places as these, resisting the devil who he was sure was laughing with delight at so pitiful an attendance. He did the sign of the cross.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." His voice never wavered and his stance did not shift with doubt when no other could respond. Anderson murmured the response for them.

_Amen_.

"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you always."

_And also with you._

With no face to focus on, he could not make himself imagine an audience that he could smile at and speak to, he had no events or special occasions to remind them of. He had no community to bond in a social union. The priest's breath hitched for a moment in his throat, and the man swallowed in order to speak. His eyes unfocused, recalling the faces of his children. He would say this Mass for them…speaking to them…

"As we prepare to celebrate the mystery of Christ's love, let us acknowledge our failures and ask the Lord for pardon and strength." Anderson bowed his head, shutting his eyes from what was around him in order to reflect on his own doings and thoughts.

Forgive me Lord for any doubts I have felt, any anger I have possessed for my fellow man in this past month of struggle - these trying times I am now enduring. Forgive me for choosing to return that sick and suffering animal to you, whose life had been created by your hands and ended by mine. Do not let these things brand me as a sinner, oh Lord in Heaven.

The green eyes caught a few rays of morning light when purpose opened them once more and the priest's voice echoed as if the absent voices that should have joined were present. His faith, if the devil was attending this mass, would have frustrated the fallen angel, telling the wicked being that no fault had yet harmed the Holy man's faith.

"**I confess to almighty God,and to you, my brothers and sisters,that I have sinned through my own fault,in my thoughts and in my words,in what I have done,and in what I have failed to do;and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin,all the angels and saints,and you, my brothers and sisters,to pray for me to the Lord, our God.**"

His lips closed and then opened, speaking to the pews again with unfocused eyes that saw little, his attention on completing the service rather than dwelling on other thoughts.

"May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life."

_Amen._ Whispering the response, the priest's voice rose when his turn to speak came again.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

The sky was so blue, the sun - so bright that it hurt his eyes and made him wince - was for once as beautiful as the moon when it rises in the form of a perfect disk in the night sky. The morning was soaked with life, the notes of singing birds raining down from the leaves of whispering trees practically dripping with color while green leaves were accompanied by some that chose to darken, anticipating Autumn's golden wealth while hoping to bring about the next revolving season faster, so as to transform the world through the collaboration of all living things that build up the landscape. The breeze stroked the black, trailing hair with teasing fingers, delighting the changed beast who laughed at its playfulness and all the things he could perceive around him with a radiant, new smile. His eyes landed on a familiar black form that was rooted like one of the trees in the gloom of the forest's shadows. The creature laughed again, brimming with the life his limbs absorbed, light steps taking him to the man whose hat still obscured his features. When white hands touched the black cloak the dark form was wearing, which was hiding his arms and the black book from sight, the creature that had once been a bat showered the man with thanks and praise.

The man's lips never moved to speak or express any emotion while the thanks was being given, but once the flow of gratitude had come to a close, something of a smirk twitched at the corner of the man's mouth. A hand clasped an unsuspecting shoulder and the altered creature's new eyes widened while his movements stopped. The man pressed on the 'bat', slowly guiding him downwards until the 'bat' was on his knees looking up at the faceless shadow sheltered by the broad hat. The hand shifted to the creature's waving black hair and suddenly the dark strands fell into place on his head, as if the wind could no longer touch them.

The shimmer of opal, the tempting glitter of a jewel, appeared with a voice. "My pet…" The cloaked form smiled while the creature's widened eyes stared.

He could understand the man perfectly and somehow interpret the phrase with many levels of meaning. "Yes?" The 'bat' responded obediently, pleasing the smile.

"You by yourself knew little of the world of men, of humans and their ways. But find in your broadened mind…that I have given you knowledge."

Blinking eyes took in the words.

"I have given you the body of a man, organs with which to sense the world around you, a mind to interpret what you observe, and clothes to cover your back; all of which have smeared the line distinguishing man and beast, the dead and the living, giving birth to what you are now." The smile stayed and the 'bat' did not articulate any questions his mind should house after witnessing and _experiencing_ so many 'miracles' at a time. But that was because a daze of joy had dulled his thoughts and made his gratitude forgo the proper decay that should have permitted natural curiosity or concern to question what had become of him.

"You once had a name…that those orphan children gave you… And now I will bestow a new name upon you as you leave behind your old life and pursue the one I have crafted. I will now call you Alucard, and you will be known, and will make yourself known, as being such. You are Alucard, a being owing his existence to one source, the one whose hand now lays on your head. Know this and do not try to deceive yourself, for that is impossible. _I_ made you. _I_ am your Maker, your Creator, your Father whom you obey and love and find origin in."

The hand did not move and the creature, Alucard, left his eyes fixed where they were on the face of shadows. Alucard's mind delved into the depth of each word the other spoke. He was not ignorant of what the man meant.

"Now that I have given you these things with which to act and judge on your own, what will you use these gifts for? What purpose will you contrive for yourself?"

The gregarious nature of bliss burned in Alucard's gaze when he grinned with unchallenged decisiveness, revealing how his whole being had become invested in what he would now propose. "I chose to find and live with Father Anderson for whatever time I have."

The pureness of the creature's words succeeded in breaking the seemingly invulnerable smile, dashing a scowl on the higher face before the pieces gathered together to erase expression entirely from the visible mouth. A mouth always at the brink of entering the shadow cast by the hat, where it could hide so that no source would be detected. It remained visible for now as the pure eyes managed to humor the man and separate his lips so that his teeth could be seen, cut in the shape of a crescent moon on its side. A cold and distant smile, somewhat twisted.

"There will be no need to find Father Anderson. The Church is behind you, a short distance away that can be crossed on foot."

Alucard almost turned to see if the man spoke the truth, but the firm hand held him still and a voice cut off any rising hope before it could distract the creature.

"The Reason I gave you should suffice in explaining why he will never recognize you for what you once were. Humans will not understand things that they deem as being created by magic. Things that _are _magic. …But know that I will always be present and will always understand. I will always know your faintest thoughts, so keep them lucid, yourself conscious of what is possible and impossible. …And now you must go." The hand withdrew from Alucard's head, freeing him with these words while the darkening form that was speaking, stepped back. "Live with Father Anderson for the time that you have, aware of the purpose you have chosen…and do not stray from it."

Alucard watched him turn and retreat into the lingering gloom that managed to collect at the base of the older trees.

"You're leaving?"

Beginning to feel the haze of confusion descend upon him while the breeze picked up his hair again, Alucard got to his feet and pursued the vanished form for a few steps which soon faltered and ended. Then he stood there, watching the gloom lighten with maturing daylight.

When he finally turned, his heart quickened with his strides, hope and joy and love - all that created warmth in his chest - emerging, shock from a cold intruding breath smothered these feelings and stopped the creature's heart for a moment.

_I will never leave you, my pet. You will be under my hand for all of eternity._

The black strands, once more, fell from the covetous breeze to lay dead against Alucard's form, curving only where natural waves shaped them.

For a moment, the wind had no influence on the creature that hastened soundlessly past the shaded trees. Not a single twig cracked under his foot to give his presence away.

Then a much anticipated voice reached one sensitive ear and a white smile grew with the expanding form of the church he had visited once before.

Angel now returned to pass over the Holy threshold, as Alucard.


	3. Chapter 3

The solitary voice echoed against the inanimate contents of the empty Church, building off of the walls to support the lonesomeness in the sound.

"You raise the dead to life in the Spirit: Lord, have mercy."

_Lord, have mercy._

"You bring pardon and peace to the sinner: Christ, have mercy."

_Christ, have mercy._

"You bring light to those in darkness: Lord, have mercy."

"_**Lord, have mercy."**_

Icy shock locked Anderson's limbs, freezing his frame, but his head still managed to raise two round eyes and he stared at the man dressed in black, the impossibly white flesh and glittering red eyes. The stranger the priest was fixated on, sat calmly as if the bench he occupied was on any common ground, transferring the focus of the Mass from the Heavens to the front pew off to the right of the middle and only aisle. Two white hands held one another in the intruder's lap, displaying composure with the rest of his posture, while in his face contrasting excitement stretched his pale lips in an eager, child-like grin and a flickering light twinkled in his inhuman eyes. Unnatural red and unnatural white, a presence unaccounted for; these details chilled the priest, warping an otherwise welcome occasion into one that made him experience anxiety and even defensive hostility towards something so strange, for a body whose presence seemed intrusive by nature. It was an odd medley of deformation and perfection that Anderson could see in the other's face that made him stare.

He had heard another voice. He had heard another voice and now he could see another person attending the Mass. Questions with varying levels of relevance catapulted the priest's mind elsewhere, detaching him from the ritual, decapitating the head of the Mass that was in progress when all reverence to God was forgotten for a few moments of confusion.

How? Why? Who? When?

How did this man come into the church so suddenly?

Why is he here?

Who is this man?

When did he come? I was looking up only a moment ago…before I didn't see…but now I see…this…_person_?

The green eyes continued to stare with blank awareness, observing the joyful smile as well as the dancing bliss in the other man's eyes. Slowly, the smile and bliss were veiled with uneasiness that obscured the emotions they had held before. With this change the priest realized his error and his scattered mind sent his eyes roaming over the open book sitting on the white mantle that covered the altar.

Father Anderson fumbled with a few words, emptying the bliss and joy from Alucard's features until his face was composed similar to his body, both patient. With keen eyes, Alucard watched the service attentively, trying to discern what he should do next in order to participate. When Father Anderson had been speaking before, giving quiet responses that seemingly only served to repeat himself, the creature had decided that the last words the priest spoke were supposed to be repeated as had frequently been the case for the evening prayers and readings Anderson had led in the orphanage. As a bat, Alucard had never attended a Mass, but he soon identified what was happening and tried to conduct himself properly. But nervousness from Anderson's initial reaction stilled his lips, making the creature into a silent attendee when green eyes glanced in his direction.

He should respond here. Anderson let his gaze linger on the stranger, picking up on the uncomfortable awkwardness the pale man now exhibited. With this, the priest continued with the Mass just as he had when he'd been the only one present. The man in the pew was not a believer. He was not a Catholic. He couldn't be if he was unable to respond or recite prayers when he was meant to.

But perhaps the man wants to convert? Green darted to the stranger again and then left him. I don't recognize him. I know the faces in the village. I would not have overlooked his.

Later. These thoughts are for a later time. Anderson sighed, but a sudden uplifting wave of cheerfulness brightened his face when he carried on. He was speaking to someone now. This would now be a Mass he could proudly present as worship to his God.

So Alucard watched quietly from his seat, taking in information dutifully though he soon realized that the priest was not attempting to involve him in the Mass. This didn't matter. At the moment, this was all the creature wanted. He listened to the soothing, familiar voice, and watched the man he cherished, content to let the Mass go on forever, but eventually it ended and Father Anderson disappeared into a back room for a few minutes.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

When Father Anderson returned, he was wearing his usual garb and a hint of a smile which reflected on the pale face and watchful eyes that followed him as the priest approached the pew. He was still smiling when he stood in front of the pew looking down at the owner of the red eyes who remained seated.

The priest spoke gently and asked Alucard simple questions. Anderson introduced himself, and Alucard, on cue, did the same, his odd name surprising Anderson for a moment. But it was easily accepted with a nod and the same faint, friendly smile. The priest wanted to know if Alucard had enjoyed the service, to which Alucard replied that yes, he had. Was this his first time attending Mass? Yes. Was he interested in Catholicism?

The pale creature paused to consider the question, his eyes wandering off as he thought. Anderson watched him, hiding the suspense he was currently enduring, the suspicions on the surface of his mind. Alucard looked at the man again and their eyes met. Do you want me to? The red eyes wanted to ask the green pair, but Alucard waited a moment to decide for himself what the priest possibly wanted and then gave a lopsided grin.

"Yes." I don't really care either way, so it doesn't matter. I would become a priest and work alongside Father Anderson if he wanted me to-

Alucard's thoughts were cut off by the unexpected hardness in Anderson's voice when he asked another question soon after the answer to the previous one had been given.

"_Why?_"

Now Alucard's face emptied, thinking back to what reasons he had just been confessing to himself. Anderson's gaze was piercing, intimidating without the presence of anger or ill feelings towards the being he subjected this look to. But it nearly made the pale creature cringe away from the priest.

Approaching a full minute of hesitation, Alucard, whose own eyes had never broken away from the priest's, furrowed his brow with both confusion and effort while frowning. "Why?" He echoed.

Anderson nodded solemnly. "Why are you interested in Catholicism? …Do you plan on joining the Church? Do you want to follow the teaching's of Jesus Christ and worship the one true God?"

As he watched and listened to the priest, Alucard's frown deepened. Who was Jesus? Jesus was…the son of God, if he remembered correctly, so Jesus was important. Yes, the priest had often used the name Jesus and God interchangeably at the orphanage. Jesus was probably very close to God. Maybe the second God…but there is only supposed to be 'one true God', as Father Anderson had put it. Alucard forced a smile, a human display of cordiality, and nodded in turn. "I would like to become Catholic."

Some of the hardness in the tan face softened, but Anderson did not adopt a new smile as a shadow crept into his features. "This is a very serious decision. You must be dedicated and truly have faith… -You _cannot _have ulterior motives."

Colorless lips twitched at this while part of the creature's face went through a kind of spasm, unable to deny his fault. Immediately Father Anderson's expression became harsh, bordering hostility.

"You won't be _paid _to pray. That may have been the case in the past, but I _will not _hand out money to keep non-believers in the Lord's House."

Money. Money is used by humans to buy and sell things. They do this instead of hunting. The newly created mind pondered the words to determine what the priest was saying and then Alucard looked into the green gaze that saw him as a stranger. He shook his head gradually, still frowning. It could not be denied, though he had been warned not to expect any gestures of familiarity, the creature was hurt by the increasing dislike the priest seemed to be developing for him. "But I don't want to buy anything."

Anderson was quiet, taken aback and yet not entirely appeased at this point. His eyes never strayed from the strange red ones in front of him. "You don't want money?"

"No." Alucard reinforced his previous statement. "I don't want to buy anything."

It was a very honest answer, with unwavering eye-contact and earnest reassurance, though…there was something out of place…something odd…about it. Anderson had to bypass the inclination to make an apology, in order to continue his prodding. "Do you want valuable trinkets? Food? Do you want to live here and take advantage of whatever facilities this church has to offer?"

The somewhat large red eyes continued to offer no evidence of deceit or hesitation. "I don't want trinkets. I'm not hungry. And I am more than willing to live outside if you want me too." Outside is so close. …So close… No need to fly or chase or search… I know where you are.

"Outside?" It was Anderson's turn to frown and consider what the other man's wording implied. Outside of the Church? As in, outside the religious community? Among non-believers? Well, there are no believers… But… "Where do you live now?"

Without a second of thought, the mouth that had no natural coloring answered. "In trees mostly, but caves or cracks are better when I can find them."

Now the Church was silent as Alucard waited for the priest to respond in some way. Anderson's face had become impossible to read, though his lips could be interpreted as giving a small frown. Behind the bronze-rimmed glasses, green irises with deep pupils that led to the priest's mind moved over the black clothes.

They were neat and clean, in-between something formal and something casual. Nothing was frayed or worn. There were no holes or smudges to be found.

This man did not look homeless.

Anderson's brow creased at the middle, coming back from his thoughts, and for a moment he scrutinized the ignorant face. "You live in the trees?"

"Yes." Was the prompt and honest answer, but the attention this detail was attracting made Alucard stop and pick out what quality might be making it so interesting.

Humans don't live in trees. They don't live in caves, though they sometimes like to waltz in with their sharp lights to wake us up. And I don't think even the little pups- no…baby humans, can fit in a crack. …How bothersome. Humans must have a special shelter to live in? Nature doesn't provide one for them? Poor humans. Houses don't grow and they can't be found. They have to be made. They have to mutilate trees and the earth around them in order to have a place. A bat's place was anywhere he could hang safely, hunt with a swarm so birds would be less likely to eat him…

Bats need each other, but humans… Alucard's head, which had lowered as he concentrated on his ponderings, became aware of the setting and his company, and his gaze concentrated on Father Anderson, curious and analyzing.

Humans don't need each other. Father Anderson is a human and he is alone and he is not in danger, he does not need a great number of other humans to survive. He has his house, though this is a Church, and he is not doing poorly. But he lives alone…

Humans are so strange. But what preys on humans that would make them fearful and need to band together? If they can eat and sleep without needing other humans around to make it less likely for a predator to eat them, then humans don't need anything else.

"Where do you live?" Alucard flinched out of his re-entered ponderings when Father Anderson's question brought him out of his thoughts. He was able to see the intense green stare above him.

"Do you live somewhere near here? In a nearby village? Did you travel far to get here and have a place where you were planning on staying?" Why do I have to ask so many questions? It shouldn't take so much to have him speak. The priest straightened his straying thoughts when he noticed Alucard's face was waving.

The creature was shaking his head. "No… I have never lived in a village and I have not lived near here. I did…'travel' to get here. I do not have plans for where I will stay now, but I will probably make a house-" You buy with money. You buy goods and services. A house is a good. "-or I will get money to buy a house to live in." How do you get money? You don't find it… It's earned. Like with hunting. You hunt and you catch your insect. You perform a service and you are paid, you acquire a prize that has worth to you-

While Alucard's mind faded out of the present again, Anderson was hesitating above him with two tan hands finding their way to the wood obstruction that supplied the specific pew with its kneeler, which separated the priest from the bench and the person sitting on it. Peculiar. Everything he says has this…strangeness to it. Methodical, a limited…not, limited sounds wrong - methodical is better. But he could have a mental disability. Autism, I've seen before. But that involves a reliance on a daily pattern…a familiar, organized schedule was important, but his going on a journey and coming here for the first time - even if it wasn't the first time... No, I don't know how to evaluate a person and I don't know what possible diagnoses could fit him. But there is something off about this man...

Warm, human fingers tapped at the wood beneath them, his figure bent a little, leaning. "So you plan on settling down in the village?"

Alucard looked at the priest, waiting to understand what he was saying. Nothing came to him. "What village?" Oh. He said there was a village near here…but how near is-

"_The _village." Anderson was frowning, confused, and his fingers released the wood as his shoes stepped back and his spine straightened. A hand swayed towards the direction the village was in and then revolved back around to the priest's side. "The village." He stated again, as plainly as he could. How could he find this Church if he didn't have the village to locate it? Knowing that it is related or here for that specific village…what map would show only the Church…?

Confusion made his thoughts ramble, but the rambling quieted when Alucard seemed to 'recall' the village.

"The one near here?"

"Yes. The closest one."

"I…don't know. How close is it to the Church?"

Though surprised, and not unpleasantly so, by the pale man's concern for being close to the Church, it confused the priest further as Alucard's ignorance regarding details about the village persisted. "It's only a fifteen or so minute walk from here." There he does it again. The thinking expression. Anderson observed while Alucard was trying to determine what measure of distance fifteen minutes would be.

Minutes measure time. It takes time to travel a distance, based on the rate you are going. Walking makes sense, instead of running, so fifteen minutes of walking… I don't know if that is a long time to walk, but it is not a long time in general…so that is fine. Alucard nodded to himself with this thought and looked at Anderson again. "I will live in the village then… But…" The deepest frown the pale face had ever shown, was formed on Alucard's lips and he paused. "…I though that… Do you live in the Church or do you live in the village?"

Not expecting this, Father Anderson did not know if he should answer. There was no harm in doing so, and the pale man would find out eventually if he stayed in the area. "My…_living quarters _have been built attached to the Church, but they are separate. I do not live in the Church itself."

Alucard's frown had become softer, but it still remained. "But you live here. You do not live in the village with the other humans?"

Humans? The use of the term startled Anderson, his lips parting involuntarily. A tongue licked them and then the lips were closed, secured by the teeth that bit them while blonde eyebrows knitted at a center point. Some illness, but -English could be his second language. The alarm wilted at the reasonable assumption and Anderson took a breath, smiling at his own foolish thoughts.

The kind expression widened Alucard's eyes and erased his frown completely, comforting him after the priest's less hospitable behavior and his most recent reaction.

They were both quiet until Anderson answered the question, the smile becoming less apparent as he spoke. "No, I live here. I don't live with the villagers."

"So…you do not have to live with the villagers?" Alucard questioned softly, an ear ready for the response as his head tilted to the side inquisitively.

"No…I don't have to live with them…" I can't add more. …That it's better not to live with them. That it would create problems…

"So I do not have to live with the villagers?"

A new pause was required, Anderson standing perfectly still. "No."

Alright. Alucard's head bobbed slightly and his eyes wandered and then were brought back to the priest. "Is there a house close to the Church…that is not part of the village? One I can buy?"

The strangeness hit Anderson again, but he forced himself around it with a shake of his head that somehow communicated the response better than words on their own. "No. The Church is considered within the boundaries of the forest…and there are no other buildings near here that are not associated with the village."

"Oh." Not too perturbed by this, just thoughtful, Alucard blinked and let his eyes wander. "Then I will have to build a house."

This is ridiculous. Touching his hair without any need to do so, Anderson ruffled the short blonde crop and then laced his fingers together as his hands held one another before his stomach. A sigh came with all of this effort and the 'unique' task he saw sitting on the bench, watching him plainly.

"So, you will build a house close to the Church?" When Alucard nodded mutely at the pointless question, the human's fingers unraveled and his hands clapped together when his grip changed. The priest rocked gently, swaying on his feet as he stood, listening, waiting, and speaking in turn. "Do you know how to build a house?"

A small, unsure frown altered the pale being's expression, but not his opinion on making a house. "You have walls…" Red glanced at the structure of the Church, coming up with the parts while he listed them. "…and a roof…and windows…and you cover the ground with square stone-" Tiles. "-tiles."

Strange. That he is… Certainly…a strange one. Anderson cleared his throat and hummed. "Do you have the equipment to make a house?"

A blank stare greeted this question. "…No."

Anderson nodded, continuing to rock gently as he did so. His tone was not disrespectful when he continued. "Do you have money to get the equipment?"

The blank eyes, which had dulled a bit, brightened. "I will work."

Again, the priest nodded and his fingers thrummed his hand. "Do you have the materials to build a house?"

"…There's plenty of wood in the forest."

The man closed his eyes, green hiding for a moment while his chin dipped closer to his chest and then lifted back to its proper position. Eyelashes parted behind the bronze glasses. "Do you own the forest?"

Dumb, Alucard could not speak, but his muteness was overcome when his thoughts sparked back to life. "I don't think so… Is the forest someone else's home? Someone owns the forest?"

"Most likely." A kind smile was given to the honest red eyes and stayed on the priest's lips when Alucard looked around, shocked and disoriented in his thoughts by this revelation.

"Oh. So…the owner of the forest lets you live here? The owner let you build the Church with the trees here?"

Anderson rocked and shook his head. "I didn't build the Church. But this part of the forest is the Church's property. It is not owned by anyone else."

"Oh…" How much… "How much of the forest is the Church's property?" Property is owned by houses and Churches? And by humans? People…have the ownership…that makes more sense…for people to own it…

"Not very much. Not enough to build a house on, if that was your thought." Anderson watched the struggling being with a sympathetic expression, still swaying patiently. That is probably why my living quarters are adjoined with the Church. Expenses were an issue and success was not probable… Well what kind of thoughts are these for a Catholic priest? Get rid of them.

"Not enough for a house?" Alucard observed a wordless no and his brow furrowed with disappointment as building his house became harder and harder to visualize. "Why is it so hard to make a house?" He muttered to himself, tucking his elbows into his lap so a fist could lean against his mouth as he thought.

Anderson watched, rocking with a fleeting, wider smile. Then his gaze traveled over empty pews in a different part of the Church, all of them empty - though he didn't focus on this.

"Can I buy some of the forest from the owner and then pay for the equipment and make my house?"

Green went back to the face that was now raised, and the priest's smile came again. "That will take a considerable amount of money. Are you employed?" No. He just came here, so of course not. And there aren't any high paying jobs in the area.

"…I do not have a job right now, but I'll get one. Then I will get the money I need."

"How much money do you have right now?"

"None."

Green hid behind the priest's eyelids again and the rhythm of his rocking broke when it quickened, but then it slowed once more. He obviously has something wrong with him… "Have you ever had a job before? Even just a day's worth of labor?" The closed eyes asked.

Alucard didn't like his confusion and the fact that the priest not looking at him when he asked this question. That was not how humans were typically supposed to converse…but it wasn't a bad thing… So he brushed it to the side. "No. Never."And yet you have these clothes…clean, so someone must have driven you here. Maybe a relative who didn't have the patience to keep you…the money to put you in a place that could take care of you…or the…means or knowledge to seek government aid…if they have any here… Alright…sending him off to the Church to be taken care of, though this isn't…the purpose…and it doesn't typically have the money or means to take care of him and provide him with the appropriate medication… They had the care to give him nice clothes and send him to a place that might take him in…instead of abandoning him in the forest to die. ….Though he said he lived in trees and caves…so that might have happened.

Severely disturbed as this became more likely, Anderson opened his eyes and scrutinized Alucard's dark clothes, his expression hardening as his body stopped its easy rocking to become still and stone-like.

The clothes were pitch black.

Dressed for a funeral.

He was abandoned to die here, dear Lord.

Anderson's eyes shut again and he breathed sharply through his nose, filling his lungs and rocking a few more times because it had become comfortable to have his body moving. He stopped to look at Alucard again, pity and sadness defining his features while all of this confused Alucard greatly so that he was quiet, watching the human's behavior with a kind of child-like helplessness to understand or comfort the man.

Anderson held his hands firmly where they had remained over his stomach. "You need a place to stay and you don't want to live with the people in the village?" That would probably be a disaster. He would starve. He isn't their own… Then…possible superstitions… I'm not too familiar with their culture. But he can't support himself. It's possible he has already had bad experiences with other people…without them understanding his special needs.

I'll contact the diocese to see if we can send him some place where he can be cared for properly.

As Anderson was having these thoughts Alucard was speaking. "I will have a house to live in when I build one after I get a job and make money so…I can build the house. But, I would rather not live in the village with the villagers. I want to live closer to the Church. I don't want to live with them…"

The priest listened. Pity and compassion manifested themselves as a caring smile on the man's face, Alucard's 'disability' making him comparable to a child in Father Anderson's eyes.

"Then you can live with me."

Dumbstruck, round red orbs stared at the priest and a pale mouth gaped, drawing in nothing as it hung open, gradually closing in progressing fractions. His voice was soft when he murmured. "I can live with you?"

"Yes." The affirmative answer struck Alucard with another wave of awe, a wave of shock, a wave that produced fizzing, bubbling joy that made him fidget and squirm, catching his hands and looking around with a wide grin which emitted a strange choked giggle that didn't sound proper, but Anderson took it as being another odd piece of Alucard's character. It was endearing almost, though a little disturbing, when the pale man seemed not to know how to express his happiness and gratitude, moving and rubbing his hands and smiling like he was. A sleeve rustled as Anderson raised his arm, drawing in Alucard's attention, and the priest gestured to the side of the Church where a door led to his living quarters. "Let's get you situated then, and see what I have to lend you. I don't have much, but sharing some things has never hurt anyone."

Alucard's beaming smile and flush of pure happiness exceeded any other feeling of joy he had experienced that day, when he had been resurrected and promised a life to dedicate to his priest, or during the course of his entire existence. It was the happiest moment of his life, and each proceeding moment only increased his happiness.

* * *

><p>I don't want to hang onto this because I'm afraid I'm going to reread it and then hate it and want to redo it...which has been a habit of mine lately. I write something, hate it, like it, then think it's done but want to go over it again...loathe it, then stuff it in a folder and forget about it for a while...<p>

If there are errors or if there is something odd about it, tell me and then I will fix the chapter. I know if I read it again then I won't post it for another few weeks... So here it is. ^^

Have a nice day.


	4. Chapter 4

The priest had a small kitchen with a small refrigerator. He had a small bathroom with a small shower. He had a small bedroom with a small bed. Everything was smaller so as not to take up too much space. The walls were one, continuous white color, broken up only by a randomly placed painting of a Madonna or a cross that had the head of a fresh flower or two propped up on one of its arms to add color. It was somewhat quaint, condensed to avoid emphasizing the fact that only a single occupant was meant to live there. Alucard saw the smallness, but did not mind when he was reassured that his priest had enough food to eat in the cupboard when the priest opened it and glanced in his direction.

"Are you hungry?"

Alucard viewed the man and then the contents of the cupboard that were being offered. He shook his head. "No."

Anderson paused, examining Alucard. His gaze shifted to the shelves as the human felt the emptiness of his own stomach. Green flicked back to the pale face. "Do you mind if I eat then? When you're hungry, all you need to do is tell me and then I can make something for you."

The pale face wore a smile. "Please eat. I want you to eat. Eating makes you stronger and healthier."

Alright then… Anderson had to smile back at the 'considerate' thought, and his hand reached for a bag that contained oats. A measuring cup was buried in the sifting contents, so it only had to be unburied before the priest was filling a bowl with oats. A hot plate tinked as it heated with a saucepan that probably only had the capacity to contain a few cups of water, sitting on top of it with a measure of water warming. Alucard was offered a chair to sit in when Father Anderson noticed that he had been standing while he worked. After he had seated himself, the red eyes fastened onto each movement the priest made as he fixed a steaming bowl of plain oatmeal for himself. The water had boiled and had then been poured into the bowl of oats, and now the priest was busying himself with the task of cleaning while the oats converted into a mushier substance. Interested in the familiar substance and the fuzzy memories of children spooning it into their mouths, Alucard watched the oats' transformation and then blinked and cocked his head to the side when Father Anderson's hand appeared, tan fingers sprinkling a meager dusting of brown sugar on top of the mush. The sugar was mixed into the oatmeal and then the caked spoon entered the priest's mouth while a hand lifted the hot bowl a little gingerly and Anderson quickly made his way to the tiny, square table Alucard was seated behind. The bowl was placed on the off-white plastic surface with a smile Alucard noticed as Anderson continued to stand. The red eyes watched the odd practice of standing while eating with the food sitting so far away from the mouth, and then realized what was so odd about what he was seeing.

"Do you need this chair?" Alucard stood and pointed to the chair he had been provided with earlier. Anderson, as if expecting this to happen, readily shook his head, grinning now as he respected the truly considerate being.

"I'm fine."

Alucard watched as Anderson took another spoonful of oatmeal, a hand beneath the spoon to catch any mush that might fall from it. The black form did not sit down. Instead, making up his mind, Alucard picked up the chair and attempted to give it to the priest…over the table.

Alarmed and uncertain as to how safe his oatmeal was, Anderson caught the chair with a hasty grab, halting it while giving the one who had brought the chair to where it now hovered over the table, a sympathetic smile. "Thank you." The priest moved the chair slowly to the side, Alucard let go, and then the chair cleared the space above the table to stand safely on the floor. It was scooted into place and then the priest, who was calming, chose to sit in it to show his guest that he accepted his generosity. If not a little uncomfortably, with the red eyes staring at him from above, Anderson ate his breakfast, passing friendly smiles to the face that would reflect his smile and then become blank until the next smile was given to him.

A strange person, but he seems to be kind. Anderson smiled at Alucard and Alucard automatically smiled back. Humored, the man chuckled as he ate another mouthful of food, making the red eyes bright and curious.

Father Anderson is happy. White lips spread with a grin that was seen a moment later and greeted with another grin.

"Is your food good?"

"Yes. …Would you like some of your own?"

"No. I'm not hungry."

Anderson continued, chewing his food and finishing off his breakfast. He cleaned his bowl with a green sponge and some yellow dish soap, interested eyes peering around him to watch the suds drain away and then blink while a rag dried the ceramic bowl.

And then the day continued.

Anderson went about with his daily chores, cleaning and whatnot, wearing a frequent smile that had not graced his mouth for the past few challenging weeks. His smile was inspired by the simplicity of his new guest. Wherever the priest went, Alucard was sure to follow, peeking around curiously at everything the man touched. Help had been offered, but Anderson could not see himself allowing a mentally…(challenged individual?) -Anderson wasn't quite sure what ailed Alucard, but he was still certain that there was something off about him… In any case, he did not want to make this person work. It somehow seemed unkind, bordering abusive of the genial creature's selfless nature.

Eventually, after countless repetitive questions began to weigh on the priest's smile, Alucard was allowed to wander around with an old rag that he was able to use in the church. So the pale creature joyfully ran the holey cloth over the pews, swiping away the thin layer of dust that had accumulated as a result of neglect - neglect that was not in any way from some fault in Father Anderson, simply neglect due to the absence of people who would have usually visited the pews on a daily basis.

Sweep. Sweep. Sweep. Alucard moved the cloth over the wood, brushing dust onto the floor when he had collected a visible amount. On and on he worked, putting effort into making the church - which was precious to his priest - as clean as possible. Once satisfied, the rag was returned to Father Anderson who thanked the pale face that smiled back at him and put the dirty cloth where it now belonged.

With his back to Alucard, still closing the door beneath the sink, Anderson spoke. "I will be gone for a few hours now." He went to the sink, turning on the tap and dipping his hands under the stream of water. Alucard stared at him, beginning to show alarm as the man continued. "I will be in the village…to speak to anyone who wishes to listen to me or has a question, and I will also see if I can buy some more supplies." The tap was turned off and the man dried his hands quickly, looking at Alucard now. The easiness in his face became sadness when he saw that this news bothered Alucard. Still, he went to his bedroom with Alucard trailing behind him, to fetch the needed money.

"Why do you have to leave me?" Alucard asked when the priest was stowing his money in a pocket.

"I'm not leaving you." Anderson tried to reassure the creature, but continued sadness was all he perceived. "I will be coming back before the sun sets. I'll only be gone for a few hours. I just don't have enough food to feed both of us for an entire month. Food is delivered here on a monthly basis, and still it is not very much… I usually have to trade or buy something from the villagers once in a while..."

Alucard's solemn expression seemed to only become more desolate. It earned Anderson's sympathy, and he explained the situation again, as plainly as he could, though he had tried to make his explanation easy to understand the first time.

"It's only for a little while."

Unfocused red eyes saw a blurry image of a corner of the room as Alucard let himself stand silently with his arms hanging by his sides, completing a picture that would make a body inclined to hold and comfort the simple, child-like creature in his loneliness. Anderson gave him a final pitying look and then stepped out of the room.

He soon noticed the familiar, and not entirely unpleasant, feeling of Alucard following his steps. So the man stopped and looked back at where Alucard had stopped, mimicking the priest.

Anderson moved his hand, motioning for the dark figure to stay. "Don't worry…I'll see you soon."

"Why can't I come with you?"

Now that the question had been asked, Anderson could no longer avoid it. He admitted the answer with a sigh. "I don't think that you will be well-received in the village. I have come to observe that they can be rather superstitious… You must know what I'm talking about. I'm sure you've experienced it before." Pity was welling in the green eyes as Anderson saw the uncomprehending frown that molded the pale lips of an individual he assumed had suffered much in his life. It made the priest sigh again.

"Is that why I can't come with you? The villagers will not receive me well?"

The man nodded his head, a grimace twitching his lips. "They may not understand you."

Alucard stared, strangely chilled by what the priest had said. Not understand me? I am a human, aren't I? And they are humans. They must understand humans… Or do they know I was a bat? Does Father Anderson know what I used to be? That I once took shelter in his robes, let his hands - that could have easily crushed my bones - pet my head and back? Does he remember that he once gave me life sustaining food and water? That he would beckon and I would come? That he once called me Angel?

"What is it about me that _they _will not understand…but _you _have understood?"

This question amazed the priest, in the depth it seemed to suggest this 'handicapped' person had perceived. He was so taken aback that he could not come up with an answer immediately, even though it was obvious to him. The man was staring directly at the reason.

Clearing his throat, Anderson made another sigh, reluctant but obligated to give the truth. Lies are sins, in the end… "Your appearance is…not…what they are used to seeing."

Again, Alucard stared, his face and eyes blank. "I don't look like a human?" He spoke quietly.

Anderson's compassion cringed and he had to look away and then force himself to view the strange worry that seemed similar to fear, in the white face. "No, you are human. Of course you are human, and never allow anyone to make you doubt that. Thinking so…is- is absurd! You are a man, even if you have a few defects. You are blessed to be made in God's image. Even if you do not believe in God, being the way you are on the surface does not matter as long as your actions are good and your spirit is humble."

The worry that made the red eyes round and unblinking, and the bloodless lips tremble slightly, wounded the priest, and he apologized to the pale creature.

"I…I don't look like…how I am supposed to?"

Anderson stood quietly. The door was behind him, a window to his left shining light on the figure before him. A new thought came to the man that shook what understanding he had of his guest. "Has…has no one ever mentioned anything with regards to your appearance before?"

Alucard stared, unable to answer.

"Have you ever seen yourself in a mirror?" The man did not wish to be rude, but he could not come up with another way to ask what he wanted to know. He could only hope that Alucard would understand this.

Once Alucard had determined what a mirror was and what was meant by seeing himself in one, black hair, wavy and curled in places, moved as he shook his head. Anderson led him to his small bathroom and then let Alucard go in alone, since there was not enough space for both of them to fit in it comfortably. A plain oval mirror with a dull white frame hung from a nail it covered on the wall.

Alucard stared at the flawless white skin, the straight nose, pitch hair, and large red eyes…all seeming so strange and alien. Surely this wasn't him. I couldn't be. It was impossible. Then…when he felt himself blink, when he gasped in air and stepped back, the reflection in the mirror did these things. Entranced and also horrified by the creature that was staring back at him, a white hand reached up and padded fingertips touched the cold glass, shivering as the alien feeling made his skin tingle, his hair stand on end, and his breath come more quickly.

Anderson watched from the doorway, both concerned and ashamed of how interested he was in seeing Alucard's responses.

What kind of life has he led that he has never seen or wondered about his own face? Humans identify themselves with their faces. Though it is such a small portion of their being, they consider it with a high degree of importance. A memory of another is nothing but unsatisfying if there is no face to the body. With only the body it seems like the being could be anyone. Recollection…and identity…comes with the face.

How has he viewed himself, known and thought of himself, without a face?

Anderson had to quickly abandon his thoughts and rush forward when he noticed that Alucard, who had climbed onto the sink to better see himself, was in danger of hurting himself or damaging the sink.

With the shock that was threatening Alucard, and the danger the man had just saved the confused being from, and the damage to the sink he had just prevented…Anderson thought it wise to keep Alucard by his side, and under his supervision. It was decided that Alucard would accompany him to the village for some fresh air and exercise.

Who knows. If Alucard had made it this far in his life without the people in this area giving him trouble, then perhaps the villagers here wouldn't be too upset by the white skin and red eyes, and the overall strange demeanor of the black clad man.

Hopefully they won't fear him too much if I am beside him. But I pray that this all goes well…

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

The first to notice Alucard was a child. A little girl who stopped and stared with a hanging jaw, far too dramatic for any mature face but fitting for one so young. Now that Father Anderson looked back on this, still walking down the dirt lane that split the market which was rather calm at this hour, it seemed natural that a child had been the first, being ever curious and brimming with expressions eager to fill their faces. But now adults stood still to watch them pass, eyes marking Alucard as the target of interest, positive or negative though most seemed neutral in the stunned silence.

Then the bewilderment would turn on the priest, accusing him, or else it remained blank, unable to interpret this scene. Father Anderson did not allow his pace to lag, did not turn to receive or respond to any of the looks, he did nothing at all beyond glancing back once to make sure Alucard was following him closely. The red eyes were dancing with twinkling, playful delight, darting from one object to another with an infinite reserve of excitement behind the scarlet irises. Alucard showed himself to be immune to the people around him, sparing them only a flitting or accidental graze from his dark pupils.

They stopped, reaching a specific shop, humbly constructed, dim, and cramped inside, with a woman squatting beside a sizzling pan, bubbling and popping with the juices from the meat it cooked for a curry others behind her worked on. A large pot boiled water in the background. Large banana leaves and plastic, colored plates were the temporary platters that held up the raw, sticky meat she was currently tearing from the limbs of one of the many animals that had been brought in from a hunting trip. She looked up and found the priest standing in front of her shop, obviously waiting for her services, and then removed her gaze, ripping off a trailing, stretching piece of slimy meat.

Anderson watched patiently, recognizing the dishes, already comfortable with the knowledge that the meat the woman was now handling would never see the heat of the pan or the fire, but only a pot of water for a short time. It was to be consumed almost raw, as a delicacy. A delicacy he had not been offered to try and did not plan on tasting anytime in the near future.

Alucard's curious gaze was still roaming elsewhere, but when the woman spoke, asking the priest what his business with her was, the creature blinked in her direction. He squinted at her work, the veins and moving tendons on her hands as she striped a skinned carcass of its fleshy meat. The head was removed, and the body so deformed that it could not be identified by sight and too many smells and spices muddled Alucard's nose to allow him to identify it with scent. So he looked to the pit of fire crackling outside the tent-like structure, at the man who held onto the wings of an animal he continually dipped and turned in the flames to burn off its brown fur…

Deadened, Alucard's body seized and he gaped at the dead body which was being prepared for a human meal, his soul and body emptied and then filled with strangling horror that repelled him backwards, hiding him behind the broad, protective back of the Catholic priest.

Father Anderson was talking to the woman when he was distracted by the pressure applied to his back. He looked to his left as Alucard inched in that direction, a face peeking out to throw a terrified, bewildered stare at the woman who was still removing meat from the carcass in her hands. Fingers glistened with layers of grease as they worked. Her dark eyes noted the face, and immediately opened with shock that lingered long after Alucard had hidden himself again.

Anderson was concerned about his new 'responsibility,' but his concern would have to be postponed to handle the shop woman's alarm as she pointed and demanded to know who Alucard was.

Calmly, Anderson explained while the woman's face steadily grew paler and more alarmed. "He wandered into the Church from the woods. I've decided to take him in for a while since he doesn't seem to have any other place to go."

The woman stared at Anderson, the fool in her mind, and then at the black shoulder she spied sticking out from behind the priest. She began to shake her head rigorously, her tone having already attracted the attention of several others in the shop and out in the market or neighboring shops. "No. No, no, no, no- You don't take anyone in from the forest, Priest. None come from the forest. No one lives there. No humans live there. Only the animals, the outcasts and the criminals."

Criminals? This was the first time Anderson had heard of this but he had no time to dwell on it as the excited woman continued, pointing rudely at the black shoulder.

"No." She said again, with a confirming shake of her head. "No. You must put him back in the trees if that is where you found him. He is an animal if he lives in the forest."

Anderson considered her with an impassioned stare that was neither hard nor sympathetic with her warning. This must be their custom. "Are there many people who live in the woods here?"

The woman shook her head. "No. Only animals live in the trees."

"When you say animals…do you also mean the outcasts and criminals you mentioned?"

The woman paused, then waved her hand neutrally. "People die in the forest. There are only animals."

And Alucard was sent there to die. Anderson's face hardened, losing expression. Meanwhile, the creature behind him began to murmur to himself, a whimpering, whining voice he stifled with pure will and his closeness to the priest. He looked around the man, at the woman staring at him, holding the mutilated dead carcass of a fruit bat. Flinching, his mind scattered, becoming more chaotic as he looked at what had at first seemed to be chunks of cooking meat in the pan with a platter of finished chunks to the side, seeing that the chunks were the curled, miserable forms of a small species of bat.

Bat-eaters! Snakes! Birds! Falcons! That's that they are! Bat-eaters! These humans are bat-eaters! Oh…oh! Oh, no…

There was a noticeable whimper that Anderson craned his neck to investigate. Green eyes scanned the gathered audience that watched them, and then frowned pity at the upset figure. He must be nervous… He must be hurt by what she is saying. How cruel…to say this in front of him.

Alucard noticed movement among the dead fruit bats, watching for more from his sheltered position behind the priest. He saw a dead female…with a bat half her size, her baby, holding onto her as it always had when she was alive, moving once in a while…thinking that the dead body would protect it…flinching away from the flies attracted to the death and exposed flesh and organs surrounding it.

A flinch came from Alucard when a tan hand gently patted the head of black hair. "We'll leave soon, I think. It won't be long."

Anderson blinked when a white finger rose. He followed the direction it indicated and then let out a sad breath when he saw the collection of dead bats, feeling pangs with his own experience with a pet bat. Then his eyes focused and picked up the same movement Alucard had seen. Mild distaste filled him. He saw the baby. He figured it would probably be eaten now so as not to put it to waste. There was no possibility of an orphan surviving out in the wild on its own.

The woman and others looked as well and saw the dead bats, some spotting the young one. It was something that should shock an outsider like the Catholic priest.

"We need to save it." Alucard murmured.

Not expecting this, the priest was unchanged for a moment. He looked at the pointing hand that withdrew to hold onto his clothes. "No… It is not yours to take."

"The bat-eaters will cook it."

'Bat-eaters', the title surprised all of the ears that overheard the exchange, creasing faces with frowns, marking brows with disbelief and confusion. Alucard restated his claim, letting go of the priest and stepping towards the dead bats now. "I'm taking it back."

"_No._"

The sharp word, like a clash of metal, intimidated the creature that recoiled and ended his advance to watch the bat-eater woman cautiously. She scowled up at him, still crouched on the ground with her greasy hands and disassembled carcass. "That is mine. My sons caught these bats, risking the poisonous snakes and crocodiles to reach them, and they are the ones who shot them out of the tree, they hunted the bats. You do not deserve to take _any _of them. You are only a thief if you do- a _filthy_ thief that belongs in the forest!"

Alucard watched her, blinking when he needed to with the breeze that picked up and dried his eyes. "You hunted them. They are your prey. But I will take the small one. It is not good to eat. It is small."

The woman didn't care, but as the argument continued, never introducing new perspectives, and enduring though the priest tried to interfere, the shop woman growled to herself, eyeing Alucard distrustfully. "Fine then. You come from the forest. You are an animal. You _know _the forest…you get me something to trade for the little bat, something good, something bigger than the mother."

Green and red stared together.

Alucard spun and darted away before Anderson had recovered, running down the lane of reddish dirt and dust, short clouds left behind him. Anderson set off after the dark form, his urgency attracting attention from those he sprinted past, amazed to see the Holy man do such a thing. His chase left the village, but at the beginning of the trees, he slowed and ended the futile pursuit. Alucard was too far ahead. He could no longer see the pale man.

Father Anderson returned to walk slowly through the village, passed the observing faces he did not look at, approaching the same shop filled with dead bats. The woman and her fellow workers watched him come. The priest made a selection among the stools that were available in front of the tent-like shop, and he sat there in silence, giving one frown to the shop woman with his arms crossed over his chest before he focused his eyes and frown on the dirt. He waited just like the others.

The woman continued to cook and soon the scent of the finished meal floated down the lines of shops and houses. Friends and family were called out to join in the feast. Anderson decided to buy a few fruits and vegetables from some of the shops, including the one filled with bat dishes, and then he continued his wait as the sun slowly left the sky. Shadows lengthened, the light reddened, and food was consumed, other dishes arriving to add to the feast from neighboring families that were then invited to join in. The bats were used, the last one being the young fruit bat. Anderson argued to spare it, claiming that Alucard would be back soon. But they wanted to use it now, so they did. And so, in the end Alucard's excursion would be for nothing, sadly enough.

It was still impressive that the pale, simple creature managed to bring back a bird of some kind, alive and squawking as he held onto its legs. His devastation was hushed by Anderson who took the bird and let it fly off as he gathered his bought goods and shepherded Alucard back to the church before the others took notice of him again.

They walked home in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Alucard's mind swirled, caught up in a tumultuous storm whose winds blustered and raged, expanding the boundaries of his mind to seemingly limitless distances, a long flat plain that then curved and adopted a horizon as it looped into infinity. Within this swirling realm, bodiless and falling through the bridge between the interior world of the mind and the world that existed outside of the body perceived by the senses, the creature was lost. It was dark and then golden, like setting rays glancing for a moment off a stream of falling water, his consciousness and the void of ignorance that guided it in a downward path, naturally as would gravity. His thoughts could not branch out to grasp for other views he could use to understand what he had witnessed. The free-fall into confusion was not slowed by analogies that might be made. It was all too alien, these feelings with names that flashed and passed as unsubstantial bubbles in his consciousness. Maybe if one single emotion was to burst, the golden spray might enlighten him – it might tell him what this darkness was and what the trapped voices in the hollow bubbles contained.

Why was releasing his voice so tempting for his body? Why was lashing out at undetermined targets appealing to him? Why did his heart and body pulse with a sporadic rhythm of aches?

Why? Why was this so?

The bat-eaters…they had… What they had done…

A white hand with cold fingers tightened around the cloth clutched over the creature's heart; Alucard was sitting in a chair at the table in the small kitchen, alone for only seconds before the priest returned. All the time spent in his fleeting isolation had consisted of falling into the unending expanse of his mind, but the fall slowed and the swirl of the mind retracted, pulling back the wind that sucked in a noisy rush of change, settling when Father Anderson laid a warm hand on Alucard's head. The man patted the black mass of hair as he had for countless children before. The red eyes which he'd noticed had been staring into nothingness, represented by the unadorned wall across from them, were now shut and the tight fist over Alucard's heart released its tension and soon lowered languidly to his lap.

Anderson's hand gave the head a few final pats and then moved to a dark shoulder to allow the priest to assess the damage done to Alucard's clothes. Nothing appeared to be torn or ruined, but dry dirt dusted the garments and smears, which had at one time been mud, degraded the once impeccable attire. There was dirt on Alucard's hands and face, with a significant amount packed under his nails; green eyes noted these details and then paused on a leaf and several small twigs caught in Alucard's hair. The patient hands of the holy man began to pick them out carefully, strands of hair combed by the reluctant exodus which left a growing number of twigs in the center of a palm roughened by work. He spoke when he was finished.

"You need to clean yourself." The crimson eyes opened and looked up to meet the priest's gaze. A hand displayed the collection of debris, which the man chuckled at. "You've managed to bring a bit of the trees in with you. Here-," the priest turned towards a wastebasket and brushed the collection into it, while his body moved to guide his ward from the room, "-you can take a shower while I fetch something for you to wear and figure out what to do about our sleeping arrangements for the night. You can bathe yourself, right?"

Following the priest through a narrow hall with close walls, Alucard held his hands together and tried to grasp what Father Anderson was asking him. When the pale creature stood in the doorway of the bathroom while Anderson opened and showed him the shower, silence prompted the priest to exhibit the shampoo and conditioner and then pantomime the act of washing his hair. A clean cloth was retrieved and the same presentation was used for demonstrating how Alucard should scrub the caked mud from his arms and face, together with any other remaining evidence of his solo hunting adventure.

"You can do this?" A hand held the washcloth, offering it to the pale ones that continued to clasp one another. Alucard slowly accepted the cloth.

"Yes…"

"Then put your dirty clothes in the sink – it's alright, it's dry right now – and I'll have something clean ready for you when you're done." A shoe took a step towards the door to leave but then halted. Anderson touched a towel on a rack fixed to the wall. "Oh- and you may use this towel here, on the left closest to the shower- Yes , that one." He nodded when Alucard pointed to it, smiling faintly as if to reward Alucard for having come up with the correct answer. "Dry yourself off when you're done."

And with that he left. Alucard watched the door shut and began to experience the queer loneliness and confusion he had felt before, but he proceeded to do as the priest had instructed after glancing at the walls and lifeless occupants of the bathroom– the toilet, the small towel lying before the shower door, and the sink. Red eyes strayed to the mirror when they caught a flash of their likeness, and the creature paused after placing his clothes in the sink, pressing down on them as he leaned forward. Staring at the mirror, the ivory face, now more familiar than before, was slightly altered because of the dirt, causing Alucard to ponder the changes so that he took longer to approach the shower.

He turned and stepped forward until he stood on the spare towel that had come to be used as a bathroom mat, moving so he could squint at the shower.

It was noticeably darker behind the glass, and because of this, the shower seemed intimidating to the shape faintly reflected in the door. To the transformed mind, it appeared as if he was already standing in the shaded interior of the shower and looking out - trapped in an unfamiliar…an _unnatural _cavern frozen over with a sheet of ice. Daunting, the thought screeched, instincts caught up in a frenzy of unfamiliar, conflicting emotions. But the creature overcame his wariness and the door clicked as it was opened and sounds became louder when he entered the 'cavern', causing Alucard's movements to seem more awkward and clumsy than they actually were. Looking around at his claustrophobic enclosure, he detected two strange glass-looking knobs that weren't like the glass of the door when his fingers compared the two. The door was much colder – much more like ice.

However, none of this was related to his objective. Alucard picked up the bottle called 'shampoo' and then squirted some of the creamy soap into his hand – just as Father Anderson had taught him – and once this was applied to his hair, he sought the water he would use to 'wash out' the shampoo.

Search as he might, he couldn't find the water his priest had spoken of, leaving the creature baffled. Where is the water? Father Anderson said there was water to 'rinse' and 'wash out' the shampoo and conditioner and the soap from the cloth meant for the arms and legs and face. Where is the water?

Hm. Alucard stepped out of the shower and left the door open. He went to the sink, finding it strikingly similar to the sink in the kitchen which he had observed possessed the ability to dispense water when Father Anderson had cleaned the dishes earlier… Since his goal was cleaning, and the sink had water and would give him water if he moved one of the metal pieces, he should get water from the sink and put it in the shower so he can clean himself. Finding this plan satisfactory, Alucard reached out to turn on the water, but stopped, hesitating when he saw the clothes that were sitting bunched up in the sink, because it was not 'wet,' which meant it was _alright_ for them to be there… But if he turned on the water and got the sink wet, then would it _not_ be alright for the clothes to be there?

But if he didn't get the water to put in the shower in order to wash out the shampoo and then rinse out the conditioner when he put it in his hair and all the rest…how would he clean himself? Father Anderson told him to clean himself, so he must, but he could not because there was no water in the shower and the sink needed to not be wet so that his dirty clothes could sit in it.

It was all so confusing, and the darkness began to encroach on the creature's mind as winds expanded the realm and thoughts only went in one downward-spiraling direction. Alucard was lost. What would he do? What could he do? He wanted to please and obey his priest but he couldn't and that made him feel uneasy and unhappy and confused. So very confused.

Why was there no water in the shower when Father Anderson had specifically said to use water in the shower? Why would Father Anderson say that something was there when it was not? 'Mistake' came to mind, but there was also another word he couldn't quite reach…

The white figure shook off the feeling and began to throw the clothes on the tiles. These squares on the floor, he noticed, were colder than the air and much colder than the cloth his hands picked up and dropped. And it was also strange, red blinked at the mound of cloth on the floor, no longer individual articles of clothing, as he pondered. It was strange to not be wearing the clothes, which is what humans have instead of fur (poor things), and it was strange that the air was so different without clothes or fur. …He did not like it.

The sink was turned on so that water dripped. It was turned on so that water trickled. Then it was turned on so that a stream of water poured out of it, and Alucard dipped his hands into the water, which felt cool and somehow became colder the longer he touched it. But the cold didn't bother him too much as he let his hands become wet, and then they dripped as he moved to the shower to let the water fall there instead of on the floor, all so that he could clean himself in the shower where water should have been but wasn't. Confusing, all so confusing, but he went back to the sink to make his hands wet so water would drip from them and fill the shower. On his third trip to the shower, Alucard hesitated again, confronted with another confounding detail as he knelt down and put his hands on the bottom of the shower, dimly noting the rough texture beneath his fingers. He peered into the grate where a bead of water slowly disappeared into a hole, swallowed up by an endless black void.

The pale form went rigid.

All of his hard work was escaping through these holes! No! This **cannot** be allowed!

With his mixture of frustration and surprise still twisting his features, Alucard brushed frantically at the water with his hands, trying to keep it from going down the holes. Clawing now, he repeated "No, no, no -!" powerless whispers that slipped down the hole with the water. These holes…he did not like these holes that stole his important water. It was like many gathered mouths drinking up what was his…

These…these are bad, bad like the bat-eaters who ate the baby even though I had brought them a bird that had much more meat than the baby. Deadly crimson slits glared at the holes in the floor until the sound of the doorknob rotating, after steps had come down the hall, distracted them.

A tan arm extended towards the sink but then pulled back, startled when water poured over its fingers. Father Anderson soon opened the door cautiously to investigate, at which point he found Alucard watching him from the floor, now sitting in front of the open, vacant shower.

Numbed and then knocked back into conscious awareness, Father Anderson bit his lip at the oddness of his discovery and then looked in one direction while his hand reached out in another to shut off the stream of water pouring directly into the drain of the sink, a complete waste of the resource. The man stared at the floor in quiet, his hand gripping the rim of the basin as he mentally berated himself for allowing someone in Alucard's position to be alone in an unprotected area, where he could have slipped and injured himself on any of the numerous puddles of water that glinted in the light, sparsely distributed over the hard ceramic tiles. The shower door was made of glass; of all things he should have seen the danger in allowing Alucard to wash himself in a shower with a glass door. If he had fallen, the glass could have shattered and Alucard could have been seriously injured. The disturbing images flashed behind Anderson's eyes, shut so that his imagination could be presented more crisply – as if to strengthen his guilt as a form of punishment. The human shook his head. Irresponsible…it was irresponsible of me to do this… I am not fit for the responsibility of taking care of this person…

With his hair sculpted into an abstract, though not really attractive, whitened and hardening mass by the shampoo, Alucard gathered the reaction from the floor, his blank expression animated by the bright curiosity in his eyes which had discarded their glare. Red then focused on the clothes which were draped over the priest's crooked arm. Oh. Father Anderson said he would bring me clothes and he has brought me clothes. But…those are for when I am clean…and I am not clean…though I am supposed to be clean… Father Anderson must know that so he does not give them to me now.

"I could not find the water in the shower so I could not 'wash out' the shampoo. So I am not clean _yet_, but_ I will be_ when I put more water in the shower and stop the holes from drinking up my water." The naked man, completely unabashed and even oblivious of his socially unacceptable presentation, put his explanation in sincere words.

A tan hand rubbed at the green eyes that were shut again, though they had opened to watch Alucard when he was speaking. "No…no, this is my fault." Anderson went to the shower, making sure not to tread on the pale man, and reached in to turn the knobs.

Water sputtered and then shot out of the shower head, amazing Alucard who gaped from his seat on the floor. The shower is like a sink that is for washing humans and not for washing dishes and bats. Now I understand. Hit by another realization, Alucard's head snapped down and he glared at the drain where the water was escaping. He told Anderson what was happening, pointing to the holes, but the priest amazed the creature yet again when he said that the water is _supposed_ to go through the holes, like the water that drains out of the sink.

Mesmerized, Alucard stared up at the water that was currently raining from the showerhead, like it was some kind of metal cloud, filled with an endless reserve of water. He got up when Father Anderson told him to get in the shower to wash the soap from his hair.

After a few moments of supervision, Anderson began to consider allowing Alucard to shower by himself again. The issue had been turning on the shower, but now that this was no longer a problem, Alucard was doing just fine without his help. So the priest picked up the dirty clothes from the floor, hung the clean clothes on the corner of the towel rack, cleaned the tiles, and left the room to figure out where Alucard would sleep.

Meanwhile, Alucard was gazing up at the showerhead with his foamy head resting against the wall of the shower. Water struck his chest, running down in torrents or ricocheting in haphazard directions. The creature was lost in thought. The water is warm… When I cannot see it…it is like some animal is relieving itself on my head…

Having made this comparison, Alucard frowned and wasn't sure if he really liked the shower. Grooming himself as a bat and never having to take off his fur was much better. Yes, he was sure of that.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

A plush comforter meant for the coming winter months, was spread over two disassembled, flattened cardboard boxes that would serve as a cushion against the hard concrete in the dimly lit storage room. Two doors which led directly into either the kitchen or the back of the church made this a frequently visited area, one which Alucard was already familiar with. But the pale man would not have to sleep in this room along with the stacked boxes and metal shelves of objects that were of such a variety they could collectively be referred to as 'stuff'. This 'stuff' ranged from cleaning equipment to more holy items, like the quantity of plastic rosaries Father Anderson still hoped could be distributed among the locals, but which were, for now, taking refuge from layers of neglect within the confines of a small, dusty cardboard box.

The priest would give the disabled man his bed and only pillow, and substitute the loss with a folded shirt – which made a thin, ineffectual pillow – the comforter, and the spare boxes that had become available after Anderson had consumed the food they had once stored.

Yes, he thought as he placed the folded shirt at the head of his new bed to add a cozy touch, Alucard will be fine in my bed and I'll be just fine here. Yes. He nodded and pulled the dangling wire swaying above his head to switch off the light, casting himself into total darkness. Referencing a mental layout of the room he kept in his mind, the man reached the door and passed through his kitchen and the hall to check on Alucard's progress in the bathroom.

Food was next on his list of things to-

Green blinked at the tangled knot of man and clothing sprawled out across the bathroom tiles; he then pushed 'Teach Alucard how to dress himself' in front of 'Make dinner'.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

_Dear God, this man is badly in need of an assisted living facility, where he can be taken care of properly and receive the help he needs. Give me the strength and patience to care for him with warmth and kindness until I can find some better help for this poor creature._

…_And please grant him good health…_

Anderson, now boiling water on the hotplate while disemboweling a package of ramen noodles, added to his prayer, fixing food for himself as Alucard refused his offer once again. This man has not eaten all day… Shaking his head down at the block of noodles, the priest prepared to make another batch of soup to encourage Alucard to eat.

Soon two bowls occupied the small round table, steaming merrily while their company seemed less cheery. The priest was silent for a moment, maintaining a serious, though sympathetic, expression.

"You need to eat."

Alucard sat in the chair at one side of the table while Anderson was sitting on an overturned bucket usually meant for mopping the floor. The golden broth stroked the skin of the man whose image was mirrored on its surface, steam brushing the ebony hair without managing to entice the red staring irises. Alucard was frowning at the soup, his brow pinched as though a clothes pin had been fastened there to hold the expression in place, so it could be properly tailored to fit his features.

The borrowed clothes the creature wore were too large, but not to the degree that they could become cumbersome. The sweatshirt was old and gray, and the jeans were blue though the color faded to white at the knees as a result of age and use. Both sported a hole or two, but this outfit was only temporary and it had been deemed inappropriate to dress the man in religious attire. Father Anderson felt that it would be wrong to do so, because this man was clearly not a Christian and was not in a state of mind to decide on his relationship with God. If the man had dressed Alucard as a priest, it would give the impression that he was forcing a conversion by taking advantage of the poor man's disability. In conclusion, it was fundamentally wrong, so Alucard got to wear an old pair of jeans and a faded gray sweatshirt.

But Alucard was pleased with the clothes he had been given, much more pleased than he was with the soup when he tasted a sip of the broth by leaning down and lifting the bowl to his mouth. It stung his tongue and made his eyes water as his throat choked on the noxious liquid. With the taste adding another pin to contort Alucard's expression, the bowl was put down swiftly and pushed towards the disappointed priest. Alucard was shaking his head, pushing the bowl away when Anderson tried to push it towards him again.

The sighing man picked up his own spoon and showed it to Alucard. "Use the spoon and try it again. Please, you need to eat."

Alucard took a moment to find his own spoon and then quietly set to analyzing the motions the priest's hand performed as Father Anderson ladled broth into his mouth. Red glared into red when the metal spoon was level with the creature's eyes, but the likeness was lost when it dove into the soup and quickly vanished in Alucard's mouth. A few fat droplets broke on the table in the time it took him to complete his reaction.

The pale face twitched, lips pinched, the head shook – swinging back and forth, a little up and down; finally he concluded with the coughing gasp of a drowned man brought back to the surface – throwing the wet cough to the ground just missing his lap when he managed to swallow. This liquid is worse than urine! How can humans drink this? It is…it is-! Ugh- Alucard's thoughts broke off with a shudder.

When he had recovered somewhat, red noticed that Anderson was eating more of the soup, this time consuming bunches of tangled noodles with a fork. The creature couldn't help but grimace and look away. Poor humans. They don't understand how to eat at all. Bugs are delicious. But do they eat bugs? No. They eat _this_. The creature threw an icy glower at his hated adversary, not even having the mercy to spare the bowl from the brunt of his loathing. This- this is _not_ delicious. This is urine with rotting entrails and-

"Please eat some more."

Cringing away from the proposal, the creature hunched his shoulders and scowled at the floor. But Father Anderson's voice was a distraction, coming again and again to encourage the pale being to find his appetite. It tempted the creature to be obedient and do as the man asked, but at the same time it was impossible for Alucard to continue. The sufferer shook his head, looking through a curtain of black strands of hair to view the edge of the table and his lap. "I cannot eat it."

A frown and a sigh tilted the priest's head and dipped his shoulders as his gaze wandered about the kitchen, returning to show that it now carried even more disappointment. Eyes traveled over the grey sweatshirt and then went to the priest's own soup. How can I eat when this man is obviously starving? How can I do this and call myself a Christian? Father Anderson allowed his spoon to warm in his soup while he brought his hands to his face for a moment, his elbows planted on the table to stabilize the man as shame flushed through him – the feelings of failure invading from every direction, mounting with instances that the priest's superego brought to his conscious thoughts.

Alucard detected an abnormality in his priest's behavior and took it as a reason for concern, but his emotions stalled when he wondered, with a sudden introduction of gloom, whether he was the cause of his priest's unhappiness. Anderson had already revealed his face again and was adjusting his glasses as he prepared to resume his meal, but Alucard was still wary of the sudden change that had taken place. "Do you want me to eat so much…that it makes you sad when I say I cannot?"

Father Anderson stared at Alucard, suddenly becoming hopeful as he read the other man's expression. "Please," hands pushed the soup towards Alucard, with red eyes following it, "eat just a bit more. I can get you a glass of water if that will help."

Alucard did not respond as he stared into the hated, golden broth, wearing his pinched brow again as it had come to fit comfortably just before the descent that led to his nose. Anderson leaned forward to gently inch the creature's spoon towards an arm that led to a hand currently hidden in Alucard' lap, these soft nudges attracting the red stare. The stare followed the flesh as it moved back to Father Anderson's side of the table, and then the supernatural orbs gradually rose to meet the man's compassionate face.

A prolonged blink hid Alucard's eyes for a moment, and they reopened to gaze into the shimmering pool that continued to emit steam. A white hand took up the spoon and dipped it into the broth as a smile broke out across the priest's lips, the man filling with joy at the tiny achievement he had attained. Standing with his altered mood, Anderson beamed down at Alucard's bowed head as he saw spoonful after spoonful of broth leave the bowl and travel to the needy man's mouth – unable to see Alucard's expression from this angle – and the priest filled his heart with the answered prayer, turning to the cupboard for a glass – rejoicing.

A tormented being, suffering internally as undesired matter was deliberately accepted into his body, he bore a flickering glance that noted the clear glass his sight was able to pass through. It was filled with water, but what did that mean to him? He was suffering, but not of thirst. He had no need for it, but it was kindness, its appearance was a portion of his priest's kindness being given to him. An unsteady hand released the spoon. It clanged against the side of the bowl as Father Anderson was sitting down, and the man smiled when Alucard took up the glass. The one holding the glass had to look to the man for advice, which was promptly given with directions and pantomimes.

And so, the creature drank the essence of life for the first time since his transformation.

And, without any inkling of expectations set for the experience, Alucard was not surprised when all he tasted was fresh, cool water, as clear as the glass that was cold to the touch. Glass, he had determined, was always cold. Water felt and tasted the same, regardless of his species. It was wet and it quenched the body's thirst, so it supported life and could be called the essence of life by men and beasts alike. Both knew of its importance, and both shared an identical experience when it was drunk. However, none of this was realized by the beings eating at the small table, in the small kitchen, situated in a small and shrinking forest that could be called a wood by visitors, though it had once been something vast and majestic centuries ago when man and beast had been closer, when the land and trees had not been owned by those who did not call this place their home and grave together – when the forest had been shared by those who knew it well, for no one now knew it quite as well as those bones tangled forever in its roots.

The water brought no thoughts at all, while the soup inspired heated emotions unlikely to fade with the taste that brought bile rising in the back of the creature's throat. Nothing of the metamorphosis was really analyzed or realized by Alucard. He showered like a man because that was what he had been told to do. He dressed like a man because he had been told to dress that way. Now he ate what a man eats though it pained him to do so, also eating in the fashion of a man, all because that was what he had been told to do. He did not enjoy any of it. None of it came naturally to him. Nothing was perceived as a newfound comfort, only as a discomfort, with the exception being the water – which had been overlooked.

He had emotions, which he now wrestled with as he ate, hating the food more than he had disliked the shower, but controlling himself, taming himself, in order to obey the man – obedience he believed would please Father Anderson, which would cause Alucard to feel pleasure, wherein he forgot some of his discomforts, or at least was able to bite down on them and endure. Always enduring, it seemed, until the last drop of broth dangled above his mouth, holding the bowl above, and catching the final disgusting, golden droplet. He washed some of the taste away with the water that remained in the glass while Father Anderson, again rejoicing in his heart, cleared the dishes and set to work washing them.

The glass, drained of all its immediate worth, stood vigil over the exhausted sufferer as he laid his face on the table and remained quiet, listening to the sink and the splashing water, enduring the pain that now filled his body. He drifted in and out of consciousness, physically and mentally fatigued by a day of immeasurable change - with victories that could be seen if taken up gently by an open, empathetic mind, and unfolded and examined with patience and care – to see the worth Alucard gave to his reunion with the priest.

Very quickly, it appeared to Alucard who was more dead than alive and more oblivious than aware of what was going on, Father Anderson finished cleaning, even taking the glass away and scrubbing it properly with soap before it was placed back in the cupboard. With the kind priest seeing Alucard's weariness, and feeling his own at this point, the man, without a word, put Alucard in his own bed and withdrew to the storage room. Not much more than an hour had passed before he was awoken by the opening of the door that led to the kitchen.

No light had been turned on, so the man squinted as his sleepy mind gradually became alert. He was unable to pick up the faintest edge of a distinguishable shape, so complete was the darkness. Just when he was beginning to feel uneasy a voice spoke, at first startling him as he forgot who had come to live in his home.

"Why aren't you in a bed?" The voice, obviously Alucard, asked, seeming to be somewhere close, perhaps crouched as the voice was low to the ground.

The priest, who had for some reason instinctively begun to recall the Lord's Prayer when he'd not known who had opened the door, rubbed his face and wondered uselessly what time it was. He had no clock.

"Go to sleep."

It was quiet. Father Anderson squinted again, unsure of whether or not Alucard was still there, even doubting now whether Alucard had ever come at all and if this was not some strange dream he was experiencing. But then Alucard echoed his previous question, closer than before, though the priest still could not see him.

"Why aren't you sleeping in a bed?"

Sighing, the priest dipped his head, battling sleep and a bit of petulance. "Because I do not need a bed. Now go back to sleep, you were so tired earlier-"

"But you need to sleep in a bed. That is where humans sleep." Confusion in the voice finally solidified Alucard's presence in Anderson's mind, and the man sat up a little straighter; he had propped himself up with his arms when Alucard had entered the storage room.

"I'm fine here, so go to sleep. -Is there anything you need?" The man added the question when he considered the reason for Alucard waking up and finding him. But when no answer came and the creature remained silent, Father Anderson rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn that attempted to coax him back into sleep. He shook his head to combat the urge. "No." He said, unnecessarily, speaking more to his yawn than to Alucard. "Go to sleep unless you need anything, then I'll help you…" Muddled thoughts failed when he spoke, and soon he lost track of what he was saying and stopped. Trying another tactic, tan fingers began to knead the tiredness from his face.

When he was done, the priest suddenly realized Alucard was sitting next to him, close enough to touch.

"You should sleep in the bed. I will sleep here."

"No. No, that won't-" Anderson began to protest.

"I cannot sleep in the bed. I do not…know the bed…it is strange to me. I know the…cardboard and the cloth- blanket. I would be happy sleeping here, and you would be happy sleeping in the bed that is yours. You sleep in beds."

Ah, this was too much. While he didn't feel any anger or strong frustration, the priest still experienced a form of impatience that sleepiness enforces. He did not have the energy this debate required. And he needed sleep. "Go to bed."

Alucard paused, clearly seeing the man pinch the bridge of his nose, his glasses placed on a shelf where they would be safe. The creature could see the boxes but he didn't pay any attention to them. "Then I will sleep here." I have slept in a…cardboard…box…before. With…cloth…no- no it was a towel? Or cloth? I cannot remember which it was-

"No Alucard." The name sounded strange because Father Anderson had not used it often, and to Alucard it seemed strange because it was just as unfamiliar. "You will sleep in the bed. That's the right thing to do- This is how it should be." The tired man fumbled with his words, giving away more of his reasoning than he desired.

Alucard was incapable of understanding. There was no logic behind it and he could not conceive the importance of morals. He himself had none. What Alucard felt and wanted was only his priest's happiness. And he believed that a human should sleep in a bed.

So Alucard was silent, and it was silence that won the argument and persuaded Father Anderson to stand and clumsily grope for the wire to turn on the light. He took his glassed, bid Alucard goodnight, and then shut the door behind himself when he staggered off to bed.

Alucard gazed up at the swinging wire, giving it a tentative swipe when it was still to set it swaying again. And then he mimicked the priest by pulling on it, thus turning off the light – a feat that dumbfounded Alucard and left him staring at the faint and dimming bulb attached to the ceiling. Afterwards he inspected his new bed, patted down a comfortable nest, and then curled up to rest for the night – warmed by feelings of nostalgia.


	6. Chapter 6

_Read through it a few times - wanted to get the chapter posted. Please tell me if you find any errors._

_Thank you._

_Have a nice day. _^^

* * *

><p>When the priest woke each morning and dawn brought consciousness into his mind with illuminating rays of thought, the faces of his children would glow with soft angelic light. In the background the faces of Sister Agatha and Sister Reed would appear, reminding the man that his orphans were well taken care of - he had never abandoned them, and even…even if he was absent, those kind women were still guiding the children, and the great Lord would be forever watching over their souls. Yes. The children were alright.<p>

As a man who was well beyond his youth, having acted as the hand that had raised a great number of individuals from childhood to competent adulthood, the priest had an abundance of thoughts and memories that could suddenly inflate and fill his mind at the smallest provocation. Lying in his bed, and using nearly every inch of the barely antiquate mattress, Father Anderson projected his mind onto the plainness of his unchanging ceiling as his muscles ached with the strain of emotional fatigue. But while he stared into the abyss of this white plain of nothingness, imagining the faces of those relations he had not contacted for some time - the face of the disabled man, Alucard's face, came to mind. The green eyes blinked, steadily growing brighter with the rising sun outside his window and the dawning light of his awakening thoughts. He blinked again and the abyss reverted to a blank ceiling once more, troubled emotions retracting from the world so that they could no longer affect his perception of it.

No, as a priest, his internal feelings must not get in the way of his senses – he must be able to see the world for what it is. He was an instrument, a servant of the Lord. He was not an individual, but a piece of something greater - he had to assume the identity of a Roman Catholic priest. Alone, when he was not actively serving God, he could be individual, but he could never permit himself to become blinded by his personal character or other human faults. His eyes must be clear. So he wiped the sadness away.

With a weary groan of reluctance, a fist rubbed at a tired eye, dislodging some of the lingering fatigue as a more substantial purpose lifted the priest into a sitting position. Yes, he would have to get ready. He would have to feed Alucard and concoct some scheme to persuade the thin man to eat a wholesome breakfast. The soup had been enough for last night. It had worked. But what could he do to get the queer fellow to eat some oatmeal? Tan hands were clasped in Father Anderson's lap, a bowed head observing the calloused fingers before his eyes shut with a sigh that brought about another pause of silence. Finally the man roused himself sufficiently, and with another groan, reached over to his nightstand, seen with his cleared vision.

It was a humble nightstand. Father Anderson saw it as a nightstand, and nothing more. In less forgiving eyes, it would be recognized as an ugly wooden crate with varying hues of brown - splinter-ridden planks that had been mercilessly nailed to one another. This ordinary and simple crate that stood beside the priest's bed was fashioned from wood Nature had never intended to become a single object. The crate, which was nothing in human eyes, was a monstrosity in the 'eyes' of Nature – it was the flesh of separate trees hacked off and mutilated until the meat could be twisted into a grotesque and abominable form, a deed performed by men so that the flesh might be of use to them – to serve them – a tool. And this defiance of Nature's intentions left the crate in an uncertain state, one which emitted the feeling that these planks were fated only to be bound together until they might one day be wrenched apart – the moment they were free of the nails when the natural order of the world finally managed to overpower man's designs.

Until this point in time, the planks had been thrown together to serve one purpose after another. At one point they had been used to ship agricultural products. At another, industrial products. Now, they were to act as a piece of furniture. Without their initial and natural goal, to be a part of a tree growing out of the earth which would shade the grasses, insects, and other creatures - the planks had lost all control of their future and had instead fallen into the power of others, to remain there until the day another power might decide to free them. But they had no hands to pull out the nails themselves. The priest sitting beside the crate was not aware of the similarities they shared. One creation that had been mutilated into a shape so that it might be nailed to flesh that was not meant to be joined with it – the bat molded into a man and tied to the holy priest... No thoughts were ever given to the humble nightstand, and the unnatural situation remained unrecognized by eyes that were pure and clear, but limited by human assumption and understanding.

The signature bronze rimmed glasses were removed from the nightstand and carried to the tired face that was rubbed by a hand before Father Anderson shifted his position and soon stood on his feet. Another ache creaked its way up his shins and made the priest bend his knees to get rid of the advancing discomfort as he moved about, stretching, loosening, preparing.

First the bed was neatly made before clean clothes were donned. A short span of moments after the priest's bedroom door had shut, a metallic din brought the kitchen to life when the holy man decided to prepare breakfast before going into the Church for his lonely service. An hour of fasting would be in order before he would begin Mass -though he wasn't postponing anything, he was thinking of Alucard only- Well… He took out the hotplate and his mind fell silent as the metallic tinking occupied the kitchen. Eventually, when the hotplate ceased to be a distraction and inactivity allowed it, Father Anderson continued his train of thought, considering how Alucard's presence would influence his morning ritual while unconsciously tilting his head towards the saucepan of water, a wrist pressed into the countertop. The hyperactive particles of gas that shot up from the bottom of the saucepan caught a glimpse of his untelling features before bursting out into the air that may or may not have been sucked into the priest's lungs. Those lungs took in a deep breath while green eyes closed in a prolonged, restoring blink, and then air left the chest as his broken reflection departed from the lively water.

Part of the man's face was again visible to the bubbles, which were growing in size and number by this point, when Father Anderson returned. He placed two bowls on the counter and spooned out a healthy serving of dry oats for himself, and then, after pausing to reflect on his guest's appetite, donated a slightly reduced serving for the pale man who had recently become his ward – not wishing to waste food. If the man was still hungry afterwards, by all means, Father Anderson would be more than happy to prepare another batch of oatmeal to satisfy Alucard's appetite for food, in the process satisfying his own priestly appetite for unselfish actions and giving to those who are poorer or just as poor as himself.

Steam rose to lightly tease the bronze glasses with a thin layer of condensation, like a hot breath obscuring the windows of his sight in a purely childlike way, breaths which lingered for a moment before evaporating when the hot water had successfully been transferred to the bowls and the priest had stepped to the sink to rinse and cool off the saucepan. A hand, upon remembering the need, shut off the hotplate that had been used to boil the water, and then sought out a drawer that clinked with the scanty quantity of assorted silverware when it opened in a way that always failed to be gentle enough to keep the forks and spoons content. The knives didn't seem to care, stolid by nature.

The proper utensils were placed on the table beside the bowls of oatmeal, and then the box of brown sugar was added before the priest proceeded to fetch the man, who he assumed was sleeping, in the nearby storage room. There was an inkling of guilt that came with remembering the details of Alucard's exceedingly modest bed, but recalling how stubbornly Alucard had insisted, and what his own original effort and intention had been, Father Anderson's other worries were not forced to create room in order to shove in the additional feeling - which would have involved crushing the other worries to fit it in the cramped limitations of his mind.

His assumption was proven to be correct as the priest gazed down at the curled form so snuggly situated in its simple bed. The scene was warming in a way the lulling heat of the steam from the saucepan had been. The simpleness of the creature was in some ways charming and beautiful in the eyes of a servant of the Christian God. This man had no luxuries, had no desires beyond the wish to stay near the priest, most likely to satisfy the human thirst for companionship. He had nothing, and yet this man had no complaints, or he had none that were obvious. He did not need riches – there were no identifiable inclinations for greedy tendencies, which come with the instinct for advancement and domination that help creatures survive and thrive. There was a selflessness in the creature which few seem to be able to produce genuinely – rarely seen in people who had never been placed in an environment where miseries and unsatisfied needs were not overbearing, and who had not been raised by pure examples. Everything in Alucard had developed without a drop of Christian influence – or so the man assumed.

The faint smile that had taken hold of the priest's features was suddenly knocked out of place by an abrupt observation that obscured his simple thoughts with complexity and confusion. Alucard had a disposition the Church was fond of – a character that might make him well suited for priesthood…if only he were able to get rid of a few of his peculiarities…and learn how to coexist with others and-

All of the defects in Alucard came to Father Anderson's mind as his observation continued, eyes viewing the unhealthy, and rather unearthly, pallor of the side of the sleeping face – unconscious of the examination. Outward appearance should not influence his eligibility to become a priest, and it would not if Alucard did enter priesthood, but human nature would break down Alucard's physical defects and erect as many obstacles as could be built from the defects for the poor man to climb over - or fail and become crushed by the innocent distinction the Lord had blessed him with… The difficulties that had been given to Alucard for the sake of testing his worthiness… giving him the chance to earn his mansion in the glory of Heaven's riches, if he should be able to overcome his troubles...the priest did not wish to explore them, so his thoughts were diverted to another path.

Father Anderson himself did not imagine mansions or wealthy comforts in Heaven, and had never interpreted any such promises as being literal rewards. The mansion was a symbol of comfort and wealth, in the sense of being in the realm of eternal happiness. There could be no greater desire above reaching the Lord's domain and residing with Him for all of eternity. Man, on Earth, could not imagine the magnificence of Heaven and had constructed a vision in their minds and furnished it with whatever worthy prizes they might be able to perceive and value on Earth. But calling it a reward was much more proper than calling it a prize – a prize is something that is won by a single person, or a select few, and leaves many others who were not as lucky with nothing. This life was rewarded after death, and any number who made the attempt and did not fall too deeply into the ways of sin, could earn a seat in Heaven.

With his head still in the clouds other human minds had strung up in the Holy Kingdom, Father Anderson bent to shake the pale sleeper gently, having to roughen the movement when it failed to produce any effect. Red eyes opened and promptly blinked themselves into slits that squinted tiredly out at the world that had stolen Alucard from his comfort. His mind was fuzzy and needed a bit of time before it could be expected to recognize the friendly features that smiled down at him.

Excitement awakened the creature and he rose to his hands and feet, an awkward motion that toppled him, made more awkward by the strange motion of the arms which had been maneuvered as if they had still been wings. This failure startled Alucard and returned the memories of the previous day to him. While the man who had once been a bat inspected his limbs curiously, at the moment fascinated by the perceived difference, Father Anderson's friendly expression of welcome, which had greeted Alucard originally, deteriorated with worry and doubt when again his past observation of Alucard's chances for entering priesthood were battered with the defects that whittled away at the idea. Yes, to the pessimist, the idea would surely soon snap in half and be thrown away. But Father Anderson was kinder and propped the weakened idea up by inflating the value of the man's kindheartedness and other aspects of Alucard's personality.

With this, he was able to collect his muddled thoughts and mask his concern with a weak smile. A kind hand was extended to the creature who paused to stare at it curiously and then looked up questioningly at the priest's face, blinking those unnaturally large orbs of ivory and crimson. The hands moved, reinforcing the offer by reaching out farther, until the gesture became uncomfortable. Nothing happened.

The weak smile dipped as Father Anderson's brow crinkled, making the expression more sympathetic. He spoke in a pitying voice touched by the gentleness one would naturally show to a perplexed toddler. "I'll help you up. You might be stiff from sleeping on the floor-" He was struck by a pang of guilt that required some effort to cast off, and Father Anderson hesitated, breaking off the sentence. He blinked and his features moved as the guilt was succeeded by more pity and a desire to show a warmer smile. "Here, take my hand…"

The priest waited as Alucard continue to stare at his face, and then both glanced down at the hand together. A pale hand reached out unfamiliarly and grasped the offered one. With a strengthened smile, Father Anderson pulled Alucard to his feet, patiently waiting for the other man to rise as comfortably as possible.

Alucard followed the man obediently and entered the kitchen which had become an unpleasant place for him. Barely conscious of the expressions his face was capable of showing, Alucard did not stop himself from wincing openly when he stood over the bowl of oatmeal that he had been told belonged to him, his nose scrunching at the scent the mush excreted. Father Anderson noticed, but bade the reluctant creature to sit and eat nonetheless. Smiling in order to make the other more comfortable, the priest offered to put some brown sugar on Alucard's oatmeal, having added some to his own. But after Alucard had allowed Father Anderson to sweeten his food and had waited for the concoction to be stirred sufficiently, his second bite led him to believe the sugar had not done much to improve the horrible experience.

Later, the mush would sit as an uncomfortable, hot lump in his stomach (though the heat itself was a little pleasant), stirring up waves of nausea and all sorts of miserable feelings in the pale creature's body, while he sat in the front pew and watched his priest hold Mass for a pathetically empty Church, whose belly starved for a heartier congregation. But there was none to be had, and its complaint could only add feelings of helplessness and failure upon the dutiful priest's shoulders.

Maintenance of the Church and the priest's living quarters could only consume so much of the day before the number of chores had dwindled to 'zero', leaving a few for the next day. At this time, the priest, without a community to serve or orphans to care for, set about writing the homily that would be read to Alucard and himself at the next Mass. Afterwards, turning to the books he had brought with him, Father Anderson prepared to devote a few hours of his day to studying. This plan was retracted when he considered what would be best for his idle companion as he watched Alucard continue to doze beside the humble nightstand, which he had discovered was a comfortable napping spot. Father Anderson decided that it would be better to give Alucard a few basic lessons about what it meant to be a Christian, sprinkled with a reflection of the book of Genesis.

He found Alucard to be an alert, wide-eyed, and willing student - much quieter than what he was used to, having become accustomed to the fidgets, curious questions, and odd distractions of children. Alucard remained quiet and preferred to listen rather than interrupt the priest, in fear of ending the lesson sooner than it would otherwise have lasted – though the priest was quite devoted to exhibiting his patience at the moment. Alucard learned that Roman Catholics recognize the one true God; that Jesus Christ was the only son of God; that Jesus Christ's mother was the Blessed Virgin Mary – which confused him, but he did not wish to interrupt and so had said nothing; that there were 12 apostles; that there was a part of the Mass in Church called the sacrament of the Eucharist, during which the bread and wine become the body and blood of Jesus Christ, and it is consumed by the people in the Church. Alucard had to interrupt here, aghast at hearing that humans eat one another's sons. It was quickly explained that God was not human and that Jesus Christ was both human and God, which made Alucard more confused because he thought that there was only one God, but now he was being told that there were two… and humans like to eat the second God… Hoping to please the priest by understanding this puzzling fact, the creature made an effort to learn what he was being taught, but eventually his ignorance broke down the priest's motivation.

Alucard had asked, wondering aloud, why humans hated Jesus Christ so much if he loved them and why they wished to eat his body and drink all of his blood. It was at this point in the lesson that the priest switched over to the copy of the Bible he kept on his nightstand, after telling Alucard that humans love Jesus and that Jesus gave his body and blood willingly –dropping it there to break into the book of Genesis despite the incredible look of bewilderment the poor man was left to wear for several minutes.

Alucard had noticed the hardness that had entered Father Anderson's tone, and aimed to improve his behavior. His head informed him that something in his conduct was wrong – he was doing something to upset the priest, and that being the case, he was upsetting himself and causing himself to experience odd twinges in his chest, which were very uncomfortable and distracting. So he tried his best to listen and understand, and most of all, not to offend. But he did not know how he was offending the priest…

Why were his words making Father Anderson unhappy?

"In the beginning, God made the Heaven and the Earth. The book of Genesis is the story of how the world and humanity came into being." Alucard nodded when Father Anderson did, remaining dumb and confused. "When God first made the world, there was nothing. The world was barren and dark. But then the Lord said, 'Let there be light'," Father Anderson smiled warmly, recounting the innumerous occasions he had told this story to his children - his voice was gentle, "and then there was light. …God made the day…and the night."

Alucard observed the smile and thought it was for himself - he thought that he was doing something good. So the pale creature beamed with joy as he believed he was making Father Anderson happy. The priest interpreted this as a response to his words, and was pleased, though also a little surprised. So he also smiled.

"That was the first day. On the second day, God said, 'Let there be a dome in the middle of the waters, to separate one body of water from another.' He made the sky and the ocean." Alucard's mind informed him what the sky was, and he understood faintly that the ocean was a very, _very_ large pond. But he was unsure and so interrupted the man as he went on. "On the third day-"

"The ocean has a lot of water in it? Is that what the ocean is?"

Perturbed by his ignorance, Father Anderson hesitated, but he came to accept the ignorance as he considered that it was not exceedingly strange that Alucard had never seen the ocean. There was a river in the vicinity, but the coast was several miles away. So the man nodded and continued, a little less confident now that he was unsure how much of his lesson was actually reaching Alucard. "On the third day, God said, 'Let the water under the sky be gathered into a single basin, so that the dry land may appear-"

The priest then had to describe what a basin was. A moment later, his doubtfulness increased when Alucard nodded sagely and said, "So the ocean is a large pond. Yes. I knew that."

Oh Lord… Taking a breath and letting it out as he shifted his position in his chair, Father Anderson crossed his legs to prop up the Bible in his lap. The priest did not need to refer to the Bible for this lesson, but he wanted Alucard to know that the story came from the Bible; he wanted to visually display the connection. After settling himself, Father Anderson added to the list of the Lord's accomplishments. Alucard sat watching him from his napping place beside the crate – where he said he was comfortable, though Father Anderson was unable to see how that could be true.

Alucard's mind raced at a blinding speed in order to interpret what the priest said, but most of the information he processed was blurred or merely skimmed, no depth was achieved, like he was a flat stone skipping across a frozen lake.

"And so, on the third day, God made land and called it earth. Then God said, 'Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate day from night. Let them mark the fixed times, the days and the years, and serve as luminaries in the dome of the sky, to shed light upon the earth-" Pausing after hearing himself recite the Lord, Father Anderson squinted at Alucard, debating whether or not he should simplify his lesson. He cleared his throat when he had made his decision. "The luminaries are the sun and the moon. The sun for the morning, and the moon for the night. Now- _Oh!_"

The priest winced and sighed heavily. "I was distracted. -On the third day, God also made…" Simplify... "-_plants_, and He saw that they were _good_ so He kept them. He made the sun and the moon on the _fourth_ day-"

Alucard interrupted. "What did he make them out of?"

The priest, already addled by his error, blinked at Alucard absently before he found his voice. "Pardon?"

The pale man fidgeted on the floor, trying to understand what Father Anderson had meant by the question. "What… What did God make the light and the darkness and the plants and the moon and the sun and the water…what did he make them out of?"

Irrelevant. He made them - that was the point. It was known and accepted that evolution had brought about the things that fill the world today. Father Anderson frowned at his thoughts and took a moment to place his frown on his lap. He glanced at Alucard, and then let his eyes run along the lines in his holy book, moving the Bible higher on his leg. "God created what they are. What they are made of…God created in the process of making them." Alucard was just as confused as he had been before, but he said nothing in order to encourage Father Anderson to continue the lesson.

But the man was becoming tired. He was more than half convinced that Alucard was taking very little from what he was saying. However, the priest moved on to the fifth day. "After he had made the sun and the moon and the next day came, God made the creatures that fill the water and the sky. God saw that they were good and said, "Be fertile, multiply, and fill the water of the seas; and let the birds multiply on the earth…" Trailing off, the priest sighed, watching the crumpled expression of distaste that had distracted him by altering Alucard's face. "What is it?" he asked calmly.

Red eyes darted away with a glare while the creature scowled, fidgeting again and feeling the roughness of the crate prick his borrowed cloths. "Birds," he growled and Father Anderson's brow rose. "Birds… I do not like birds. God should not have made them. …Birds…are _not_ good. Birds...are **very**_ bad_. He should not have made them. …There is _nothing_ good about birds that eat bats." Hatred was evident in Alucard's tone and expression, but the emotion was not examined.

The priest was cool, numbed by the fatigue that continued to empty him. "So you disagree with God?"

Alucard tensed. He lost his glare and only nervousness dominated his features. What Father Anderson had said, and how he had said it...

It seemed like he was doing something to upset Father Anderson again.

Red stared blankly out of a face pinched with worry, wincing when Father Anderson's voice returned.

"God made birds because birds _are_ good. …If you do not like birds, then that is what you feel. And what you feel does not matter – God intended for birds to live on the earth and fly in the sky, so they will, regardless of your opinion. There may be many things you wish did not exist, but God made them, so they must be accepted – as God's creations."

Drawing in his knees and tucking his arms behind them, Alucard bounced worried looks across the floor and into the cluttered wall across from himself, hitting shelves and their contents while maintaining a little frown. Pale hands squeezed the blue jeans. Alucard did not like the feeling of being chastised, though he did not understand the feeling or where it had originated from. He did not understand the priest's words, or his tone. All he knew was that he had done something that had made his priest unhappy again… It was so hard not to make him unhappy... It had been a while since his priest's last smile…and Alucard preferred seeing him smile. That was pleasant. This wasn't. …He didn't like what he saw in Father Anderson now.

With a stern expression, Father Anderson watched Alucard's behavior. His voice was not hard. It was still gentle, but it applied a soft pressure upon the listener, pressuring Alucard to take up his beliefs. "Do you understand?"

Alucard said nothing because he _did not_ understand, and Father Anderson was not nodding, so he could not nod. A nod meant, 'yes', 'it's alright', 'keep going', 'I am content'… Father Anderson was doing nothing, so he could do nothing…

The priest waited for a reply, but when none came, he went on.

"That was the fifth day. On the sixth, God made the wild animals, and saw that _**all of them**_-" he emphasized this, looking at Alucard before turning his gaze to his Bible, "-were good. Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and the cattle, and over all the world and all the creatures that crawl on the ground.'"

This Alucard could not fathom. This made him stare, his lips parted, the muscles in his face moving as his mind spiraled. Father Anderson read the signs of confusion, and waited for the questions to come.

"Why did he say 'our'? He is only one, so it is 'I', correct? Or…no? I thought God is one. Then there is Jesus Christ."

"Jesus Christ," Father Anderson replied slowly, patience evident in his tone, "is God." I have already told him this. I have told him so _many_ times.

Widening with another blow that shook his understanding of the priest's lessons, crimson dulled and blinked. "Jesus Christ is the son of God, but he is also God? God is his own father? God made God? He made himself?"

"The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, are all part of the one God." No comprehension appeared in Alucard's face. "The Father is God. The Son is Jesus Christ. The Holy Spirit is the same as the Holy Ghost, the presence of God – and it is the third part of the Holy Trinity: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. They are all God."

Alucard shut his mouth. His expression became more controlled, but still he could not grasp the meaning of the man's words. Logic said, 'Three is three. One is one. Three cannot fit into one. Three cannot be one. One moth cannot be three to feed three bats. One moth is one moth for one bat. If a moth is cut into three pieces, there is the body of the moth, a wing, and a head. That does not make three moths…maybe three small- no. _No._ Only pieces of _one_ moth. There _cannot _be _three_ moths in _one_ moth.' The befuddled creature could not make himself understand the mystery, so he went to his next question with the hope of understanding some part of what the priest had just told him.

"And humans look like God?"

"Yes."

"Even female humans?"

"Yes."

Alucard was sure female humans and male humans smelled differently, and looked a little different from one another. Females looked squishier. But he did not dwell on the observations that were contrary to the priest's belief. "To have dominion over - is controlling, being the leader, being stronger than the rest, yes?"

"To have sovereignty- to rule over. Like a king."

He had no idea what a king was…it…it was a strong male human who was dominant. The alpha in a pack of wolves. But a pack of humans was called a kingdom or a country or- Alucard only became more confused. "Are humans the God for the animals?"

"_**No**_." Green eyes are large for a moment, his voice abrupt. "_**No**_, humans _are __**not**_ _God_. Not for _any_ creature." He tried to reply as quickly and simply as possible, staggered by the misunderstanding. Aged lips frowned, worried that they had given Alucard the wrong impression – a _very_ wrong impression. "God made everything around you. Humans are only another one of His many creations. He is only saying that we- that humans rule over the animals, the birds and beasts and the creatures in the sea."

Alucard's toes curled in his shoes and he gripped the blue jeans again, holding his legs still. "Rule over…the birds…and the beasts…and the creatures in the sea?"

"Yes…" Father Anderson tried discerning whether or not Alucard had understood the concept, examining the white features. Alucard was staring at the floor, but soon he looked up - his lips pursed, his eyes unsatisfied.

"Did God make bats?"

Again… Bats…I believe he's mentioned them before. "Yes. God made all creatures."

There was a pause in which the pale man fidgeted with an uncomfortable emotion, moving his legs, straitening and curling. Finally he broke through the feeling, falling into several other emotions as he spoke, all of them pulling his mind in different directions. "God- Did… Did God make me?"

"Well, yes." A sigh followed the answer, and a hand rubbed at the priest's face and then his mouth. He watched Alucard with his steady gaze, reflecting bits of light like cut emerald and pondering how the strange man's mind worked…how it could not grasp information immediately or even the second time it was given to him, why he needed to be told the same thing time and time again. He is just…slow... "God made everything and everyone – every creature. God made you and He also made me."

Alucard twitched at this bit of information and his knees were drawn to his chest again._ God made my priest_ – this astounded the creature and led him to appreciate God for the first time, emotion giving the name a presence when before it had only been an empty word. _God made me._ That sent the creature into another spiral of thoughts and feelings, all muddled - all mixed, blurred, and muddled – skipping, skipping across the surface of all things – he could not dive into the depths.

Alucard found the green eyes that had not left his face, emerald and strong, yet warm with a glow like sunlight. Though Alucard was not especially fond of the sun, he valued the sun that existed in his priest's eyes. Just as the eyes had begun to make him feel more relaxed, another question left his lips. "Does God wear black clothes?"

This, for some reason Father Anderson could not identify, was the most alarming question Alucard had ever asked. It was simple, but the symbolism of darkness, of black clothes on the almighty Lord, disturbed the priest. Bright. Michelangelo had depicted a God in bright robes, reaching towards the naked Adam. -Adam…they hadn't even gotten to Adam and Eve yet. Oh Lord, this lesson is progressing so slowly…only let him one day understand what I am telling him.

With some of his initial alarm reduced, Father Anderson shut his eyes, let out a sigh, and spoke. "No. I do not know if God needs clothes. I think humans… No. Whenever God is painted, he is not wearing black. Black is a dark color – it is darkness – and God is usually portrayed as being light. So he wears white or bright colors." Though it's all symbolism. It doesn't matter-

"Does God carry a black book?"

_A black book._

Green flashed and Father Anderson stared at Alucard with a tightened jaw. His body stiffened at the same moment while he peered down at Alucard, squinting behind his bronze frames, searching to find the source of these questions... These…unsettling questions… His stare traveled about the room to seek out the source when he could not find it in Alucard, landing in the priestly lap when Father Anderson remembered he had a Bible resting against his leg. He shut its cover and held it up. "A book like this? You mean a Bible?"

Red scrutinized the cover, and then a pale head shook. "No. A bigger book. A big thick black book."

"Well," Father Anderson's mouth formed a crooked and overwhelmingly uncomfortable smile when he glanced at the Bible, lowering it into his lap. This man says the strangest things… "There are larger Bibles. Not all of them are black, either. They…" he swallowed as his nerves refused to quiet themselves "-can come with different covers - some have pictures. There are children's Bibles which simplify the lessons and stories-" I wish I had one of those for Alucard, "-but the content is the same, for the most part. There are also different translations…" He cleared his throat and uncrossed his legs. The priest's wooden chair creaked as his weight left it when he rose to reach over part of Alucard's napping spot. He placed the Bible back on his humble nightstand, and Alucard watched as Father Anderson sighed and sat down in his chair. Then the man turned to the other books on his little desk. The lesson was over, and Father Anderson told Alucard that he had 'done well', and that now he could have a break and do whatever he liked, as long as he didn't stray too far into the forest or get himself into trouble.

"Stay away from the village." Father Anderson also stressed the importance of keeping his distance from the residents as Alucard was leaving the room.

The creature looked back, promised to obey, and was gone.

*~*~::..+..::~*~*

Feeling more comfortable in the matured daylight than he had in the new morning light, Alucard listened to the crunching of the mixture of dry dirt, leaves, and broken twigs his shoes pressed down into the earth, eyes watching the shadows of the leaves which were darkening as evening gradually approached. He walked without intending to reach a specific destination. It was his unconscious mind that drew him to the place he had last seen the man donned in black, the dark creator. Alucard's thoughts turned to the mysterious man as he recognized where he was. It was not long before he felt the presence and he turned and found the man, black clothes and all, darkening in the united shadow of the forest trees.

The great black book was tucked under his arm. The opal teeth were seen through his crescent smile, and suddenly, to the creature that had once been a bat, the sky felt like it had become black, that it had become night, and that all that existed were the solid surface supporting him, the man in black, and then himself. Alucard…felt…comfortable, like this. It felt like his cave – but then, there was a feeling of loneliness, the feeling of being trapped in an empty cave, the entrance blocked by a massive boulder. Echoes. His breaths. His heartbeats. Echoes that expanded infinitely, sounds that shook, struck the surface below his feet, and never returned…but continued to tremble in the air. Forever.

No, he preferred being in the Church with his priest.

Alucard looked up as a familiar voice spoke. "You may return to your priest soon, my pet. I will not keep you long."

Alucard said nothing, a dull mind incapable of forming thought, watching the man in the shadows and waiting for him to speak, for him to continue speaking after this necessary pause. The man was going to say something, something significant; Alucard knew he was going to speak for a long time. There was much to hear because there was much to be said. Why? He did not know.

The opal teeth were visible again, as show of quiet humor. "You have received a lesson from your priest, so I, as your Maker, thought it necessary to amend your priest's teachings. His…obscure perception of how the world began. It confused you greatly, did it not?" Unseen eyes waited for Alucard's answer.

"Yes."

The smile grew.

Alucard did not see his response as an insult towards his priest. He did not understand the concept of failing to teach another something that was not tangible, to fail to teach someone thoughts or ideas. He knew of teaching fear – fear of dangers, teaching how to avoid those dangers, to fly in a swarm with the hope that you might not be among those snatched and eaten by the birds. And then failing to teach this meant nothing to him. He was male and had never raised his pups. That was for the female. But seeing the female, he had understood what she did. He knew that a female had once given birth to him, fed him, protected, and instructed him. But failure to teach meant nothing other than the death of the bat that could not learn. The teacher was not harmed by the other's failure. Only the little bat was lost. Females felt something from the lost, but he never had. He did not know if any of his pups had ever died before reaching adulthood. He did not particularly care – some confidence told him that his blood was enough to give the pups a chance at life. What more could he do? It was better for weak bats to die so that they would not mate and create other weak bats.

Right now, he was the weak bat, and he needed to learn. The source did not matter.

So the man holding the great black book bade Alucard to sit, and he began to describe the creation of the world and mankind. He taught with a combination of words and internal feelings that Alucard experienced, which allowed him to grasp what the man was trying to communicate. The bat creature absorbed the lesson quietly and obediently.

The lesson came in this mixture of audible and internal languages, but it appeared in such a way that it can still be put into words:

"_In the beginning God created Heaven and Earth. He most likely did so in the recorded order. Concepts that had escaped him during the formation of Heaven were left for the creation of the Earth. Pertaining to the ideas housed by a mind said to be like man's in the scriptures, and so being like man's thoughts - it might be assumed that first arose good and pleasing feelings which tend to accompany the initiating spark of inspiration - this journey of creativity which is a desired distraction instead of any laboring endeavor. What came after this beautiful, perfect creation, was a creation full of faults. Perhaps the feeling of the first creation was meant to be re-experienced, or perhaps the sheer perfection of the place in which He and His angels would live filled God with dissatisfaction. All that existed was perfection. Why could there not be something imperfect that was just as admirable and pleasing?_

"_Was it a question that inspired God to create the Earth after shaping the Heavens? Could negative thoughts have emerged after a flood of undiluted joy that gave birth to the golden kingdom? In either case, the world was shaped upon some feeling, upon some motivation, and upon some plan, and as the earth was created and light came into being, darkness hid within its intended imperfections, shadows in the space that separated the Earth from the place of complete joy and perfection that rested some ways beyond it. Man was born. Man was ignorant. Man gained knowledge, and so gained the ability to see the shadows, to see the dark serpent and to understand why it would seek to wrap itself about a throat for the full gluttonous enjoyment of observing the slow course of suffocation. Man observed evil and came to know evil as yet more of his ignorance was cast away, and man learned how to be like the serpent. Man learned to be evil. He learned how to kill and corrupt and destroy and how to harvest the ripest feelings of satisfaction and elation from perverse actions._

"_And the angels, observing, came to know evil by watching the humans, learning how to feel envy and jealousy – how to be resentful, and how to put these feelings into a course of action that should produce pleasing satisfaction which would be used to quell the turmoil within their breasts._

"_God could not have foreseen such fault coming into the golden kingdom, for He had designed it for perfection, He had made it into perfection, there was no flaw, no darkness. But He had given them eyes, and with eyes the angels could watch the Earth and so absorb its excess of imperfection._

"_And so Heaven was corrupted. Man may yet be able to claim responsibility, or else only God and the angels may be looked to, but those who are supposed to be perfect do not easily take damage to their person. Perfect beings cannot have faults._

"_And so Heaven was purged of the tainted flesh, and it was cast out to be burned in a pit of Wrath. And so, Hell was created, and the damned crowned their own fallen king with flames. A place so concentrated with fault, easily found passages to the Earth…_

"_The fallen king trekked across the dusty soil, carrying under his arm his black book with the list of those touched and tainted with the corruption that would never be permitted to contaminate the glorious golden kingdom above, and which would also come to be cast down into the pit to burn – all for the preservation of God's cherished and Holy perfection._

"_Somehow the fault that he may have once deemed worthy of creating for the purpose that all things may not have to be perfect, what had once been his aim and desire, was punished with scorn that fell down as judgment, rending souls, picking apart corpses of the dead so that the smallest contaminant might not spread the imperfection which was forever meant to remain entirely separate from what was perfect._

"_With the thought that man was designed and created to be God's imperfect, wingless angels– How is it possible that there might ever be a man pure enough to walk through the golden kingdom, if God never made a being wholly prepared for that accepting embrace perfect at birth? But then, questions of this nature have never been encouraged."_

…

…There was no creation of water, no creation of the moon and sun, no creation of the birds and fishes… This was different, every part of it felt and sounded different… But he understood, to a degree, what it meant.

"You are not God?"

The opal mouth sharpened. "I am not that."

Alucard paused, watching the shadows that blurred the outline of the black clothes. "You are the king of the pit of Wrath." He took Wrath to be the fire, to be hatred and punishment.

The smile widened.

"You have 'dominion' over the pit of Wrath?"

The air chilled, but Alucard was detached from it – the wind and the cold could not roughen his skin or move his hair – he felt none of the changes that were brought on by the icy smile, the sheen of wicked mirth.

"Yes."

"And God did not make me?"

There was a hum, like a satisfied growl or purr that came from the man's throat - that pushed his chest, made him seem larger temporarily, a growth that was not physical. "No. No, He did not."

"You made me?"

"I did. I am your father, your Maker, your Lord, your God. The one you will worship, the one you will thank, is me. I…alone."

Quiet flowed between and around them, wind that could not touch them. Alucard's eyes were on the leaves in the trees that could be touched by the wind God had once created. Then he looked at the man.

"What did you make me out of?"

The smile was gone. There was nothing, as if the man had no answer – as if he had never expected the question. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. The twilight was fading, and the man was disappearing into the darkness. "I made you out of what you are, my pet. Now return to your priest. He is searching for you."

The darkness had swallowed the man, it had reclaimed the black book, and Alucard was walking towards the Church, his shoes crushing the dead leaves beneath his feet. The wind tossed his hair violently, snapping it in the crisp air and swinging it north and south, east and west, in all directions, to all points of the Earth, so that it might beat upon the white features; and it carried Father Anderson's calls to him. The cold was now felt, and the creature noticed, turning his crimson irises to the sky, piercing it with the strength of the pits of darkness within them, that clouds had buried the night with their mass. It was composed of blotches of grey, dark, and blending into a deeper darkness, a blanket stretching across the dome of the sky.

The clouds were heavy with water.


End file.
